“She and her mother are, I believe, in comfortable circumstances. I hope that you and Wayne will appreciate the difficulties before this lady in becoming my wife--that she is stepping into a place where she will be criticized unkindly from the very fact of my position here and the disparity in our years and fortunes. I appeal to you, Fanny, as to one woman on behalf of another. You can make her way easy if you will.” He had, with the best intentions in the world, struck the wrong note. In so many words, he was asking mercy where there had been no accusation. Mrs. Blair had not the slightest intention of committing herself to any policy toward her father’s new wife. So far as the public was concerned she would carry off the situation with outward acceptance and approval; but just now she declined to consider the question in the key her father had sounded. To him she was a frivolous person with unaccountably erratic ways, and with nothing of his own measure or sobriety. She made no reply whatever to his appeal, but chose another bonbon and ate it with exasperating slowness. Wayne saw--as her father did not--that she was angry; but Mrs. Blair fell back upon the half-mocking mood with which she had begun, demanding: “Is she modish? Does she wear her clothes with an air?” “I hope,” said Colonel Craighill, betrayed into the least show of resentment by her refusal to meet his question--“I hope, Fanny, that she dresses like a lady.” “So do I, papa, if it comes to that! You haven’t told us yet how you came to meet Miss Allen.” “It was last spring when I went to Bermuda. She and her mother were on the steamer. I saw a good deal of them then; and I have since seen them in New York, which is now really their home.” “Have they ever been here?--I have known Allens.” “I’m quite sure you have never met them, Fanny. Since Adelaide’s father died they have travelled much of the time.” “So your frequent trips to New York haven’t been wholly philanthropy and business! You speak her name as though you had got well used to it. It’s funny, but I’ve never known Adelaides. Have you ever known an Adelaide, Wayne?” “A lot of them; so have you if you will think of it,” answered her brother. He saw that his father was growing restive and he knew that Fanny was going too far. There was a point at which she could vex those who loved her most, but being wiser than she seemed she usually knew it herself. She pushed away the bonbon dish and slapped her hands together lightly. “Wayne,” she cried, “what are we thinking of? We must see her picture! Now, papa! you know you have it in your pocket!” “Certainly, we must see Miss Allen’s picture,” echoed Wayne, relieved at his sister’s change of tone. “Later--later!” but Colonel Craighill’s annoyance passed and he smiled again. “It isn’t dignified in you to invite teasing, papa. You know you have her photograph. Out with it, please!”