“I took a walk with Lester Royal.” “I don't think him a very good person to be seen with,” Katherine interposed. She felt bound to raise a disturbance on moral grounds. “Don't you?—why not?” Then as a happy after thought: “There are certain people who should be restrained from thinking.” Katherine ignored his remark and returned to the charge. “What sort of a reputation has he, I should like to know! But of course you are superior to a trifle like that.” “I fancy it's what it should be.” “You know very well he has no reputation at all. But I suppose you don't mind—you are so liberal.” “Then I am sure there is nothing wrong with it since it doesn't exist.” “It does exist and is most unsavory!” “Well, even an unsavory reputation is a decided improvement on no reputation at all.” “I don't think——” Katherine began. “I am glad you don't, Kate; it was never intended you should,” Philip made haste to say. At this point Florence took up the cudgels against Philip: “I should think you would have been ashamed to let people see you with him—he's simply horrid!” “I wasn't seen with him, so don't distress your conscience with the idea that I was.” “No thanks to you that you weren't,” said Katherine. “Your penetration does you credit, Kate. I don't happen to possess your inordinate respect for appearances.” He was waiting to make a telling retort. This always stimulated him. “I suppose you can't select men of good character for your friends,” Katherine snapped. “Freedom from vice is more a question of ignorance than anything else.” Unconsciously he glanced at Anson as he spoke. “I should be ashamed to think it,” said Katherine. “Perhaps my spiritual insight has become blunted by my unfavorable surroundings.” “I suppose that's a covert slur at me and my religion,” with heat. “The things you say are disgraceful!” “I don't see how mother can permit it,” Florence said, bent on being in the row. “For pity's sake, girls, can't you let Philip finish his supper in peace, without going out of your way to complain of what is no affair of yours?” It was Mrs. Southard who spoke. Philip pushed back his plate. “I am through and will take myself off,” he said. He kissed his mother, and with an indifferent good night to the rest, left the room. A moment later the street door closed with a bang. “I wish to gracious he was already married to Barbara. I'll bet he'd know pretty quick he wasn't any better off,” said Florence. “There—there,” Mrs. Southard objected wearily. “Can't you find something else to talk about?” II The Southard's belonged to that great division of the human family—the eminently respectable. As far as they went they were above reproach—nor were they without a certain prestige. As Katherine was wont to remark: “They knew the best.”