"Phyllis told me to give you this as soon as you returned," said the girl. "What does this mean?" Mrs. Bing whispered to herself, as she tore open the envelope. Her face grew pale and her hands trembled as she read the letter. "_Dearest Mamma_," it began. "I am going to Hazelmead for luncheon with Gordon King. I couldn't ask you because I didn't know where you were. We have waited an hour. I am sure you wouldn't want me to miss having a lovely time. I shall be home before five. Don't tell father! He hates Gordon so. "_Phyllis._" "The boy who insulted her! My God!" Mrs. Bing exclaimed in a whisper. She hurried to the door of the butler's pantry. Indignation was in the sound of her footsteps. "Martha!" she called. Martha came. "Tell James to bring the big car at once. I'm going to Hazelmead." "Without luncheon?" the girl asked. "Just give me a sandwich and I'll eat it in my hand." "I want you to hurry," she said to James as she entered the glowing limousine with the sandwich half consumed. They drove at top speed over the smooth, state road to the mill city. At half past two, Mrs. Bing alighted at the fashionable Gray Goose Inn where the best people had their luncheon parties. She found Phyllis and Gordon in a cozy alcove, sipping cognac and smoking cigarettes, with an ice tub and a champagne bottle beside them. To tell the whole truth, it was a timely arrival. Phyllis, with no notion of the peril of it, was indeed having "a lovely time"--the time of her young life, in fact. For half an hour, she had been hanging on the edge of the giddy precipice of elopement. She was within one sip of a decision to let go. Mrs. Bing was admirably cool. In her manner there was little to indicate that she had seen the unusual and highly festive accessories. She sat down beside them and said, "My dear, I was very lonely and thought I would come and look you up. Is your luncheon finished?" "Yes," said Phyllis. "Then let us go and get into the car. We'll drop Mr. King at his home." When at last they were seated in the limousine, the angry lady lifted the brakes in a way of speaking. "I am astonished that you would go to luncheon with this young man who has insulted you," she said. Phyllis began to cry. Turning to young Gordon King, the indignant lady added: "I think you are a disreputable boy. You must never come to my house again--_never_!" He made no answer and left the car without a word at the door of the King residence. There were miles and miles of weeping on the way home. Phyllis had recovered her composure but began again when her mother remarked, "I wonder where you learned to drink champagne and cognac and smoke cigarettes," as if her own home had not been a perfect academy of dissipation. The girl sat in a corner, her eyes covered with her handkerchief and the only words she uttered on the way home were these: "Don't tell father!"