Mr. Weston, riding home in the taxi, was not without some astonishment at himself. Why was he so keenly annoyed at Fred's bad taste? Why had he such an ardent desire to kick Maitland? He might have gone further in his self-analysis and discovered that, though he wanted to kick Howard, he did not want to haul him over the coals, as a man of his years might well have done--merely to give a friendly tip as to propriety to a youngster whom he had seen put into breeches. Had he discovered this reluctance in himself, Arthur Weston might have decided that his indignation was based on a sense of personal injury--which has its own significance in a man of nearly fifty who concerns himself in the affairs of a woman under thirty. The fact was that, though he thought of himself only as her grandfatherly trustee, Frederica Payton was every day taking a larger place in his life. She amused him, and provoked him, and interested him; but, most of all, the pain of her passionate futilities roused him to a pity that made him really suffer. He could not bear to see pain. Briefly, she gave him something to think about. His displeasure evaporated overnight, and when he went up to her office the next morning he was ready to apologize for his words in the taxi. But it was not necessary. Fred, in the excitement of receiving a letter asking her fee for hunting up rooms, had quite forgotten that she had been scolded. "I think I'd better advertise in all the daily papers!" she announced, eagerly. "You're a good fellow," he said; "you take your medicine and don't make faces." "Make faces? Oh, you mean because you called me down last night? Bless you, if it amuses you, it doesn't hurt me!" The sense of her youth came over him in a pang of loneliness, and with it, curiously enough, an impulse of flight, which made him say, abruptly: "I shall probably go abroad in January. Can I trust you not to advertise yourself into bankruptcy before I get back?" "Oh, Mr. Weston," she said, blankly; "how awful! Don't go!" "You don't need me," he assured her; but a faint pleasure stirred about his heart. "Need you? Why, I simply couldn't live without you! In the first place, my business would go to pot, without your advice; and then--well, you know how it is. You are the only person who speaks my language. Grandmother talks about my vulgarities, and Aunt Bessie talks about my stomach, and the Childs cousins talk about my vices--but nobody talks about my interests, except you. Don't go and leave me," she pleaded with him. The glow of pleasure about his heart warmed into actual happiness. "Please don't think I approve of you!" She looked at him with her gray, direct eyes, and nodded. "I know you don't. But I don't mind;--you understand." "But," he said, raising a rueful eyebrow, "how shall I make Cousin Mary 'understand' your performances?" "By staying at home and keeping me in order! Don't go away."