“I’ll be there,” Howard assured, magnanimously. At the door, he turned suddenly: “Say, Dad, how about the roadster you promised me when I was through college. Can I have it?” “Yes,” Hugh answered listlessly. “Order it whenever you please.” “Thanks, Dad, you’re great!” And Howard ran upstairs, whistling the air of a popular song. For a few moments Hugh paced about the room; then, coming to a sudden standstill, he threw back his head and laughed bitterly. “What is the _use_?” he murmured. “If I attempt to reason with my children, they become insufferably insolent, or else they endeavor to win me over with subtle flattery.” The jangle of the telephone bell on his desk startled him. “Is this Mr. Benton?” a sweetly low voice came over the wire. “Yes.” “This is Geraldine DeLacy, Mr. Benton.” “How do you do, Mrs. DeLacy,” he replied, but he was not unconscious of the quickening of his heart. “I fear you have forgotten me. Don’t you remember promising to arrange for me to call at your office?” “Forgotten you, Mrs. DeLacy! You suggest an impossibility. On the contrary I’ve been waiting to hear from you. Do you happen to be at leisure to-morrow?” “Why yes—I—” she began, but in his masterful way Hugh Benton took matters in his own hands. “Well, then, suppose we say eleven-thirty, at my office, and after our little business conference, perhaps you will do me the honor to lunch with me?” “I shall be delighted.” “Thank you,” he murmured, as he hung up the receiver, Geraldine’s musical “good-by” singing in his ears. When Hugh entered the breakfast room the next morning, he found all the members of his family at the table. This was an occurrence so unusual as to cause surprise. Of late years while the children were away at school, Marjorie and Hugh breakfasted together on an average of about once a month. Since Elinor’s return, she had ordered her tray sent up at least five mornings out of seven, and Howard had not shown himself one morning in the few days that he had been home. Therefore, Hugh’s inquiring glance was to be expected. “Good morning,” he said, as he pulled out his watch. It was just 9:30. “What a lot of early birds!” Marjorie laid aside the letter she was reading as she answered: “Good morning, Hugh. I don’t believe I am any earlier than usual. I breakfast every morning regularly at 9:15.” “I wasn’t referring to you, Marjorie,” Hugh laughed good-naturedly. “I know your life is one long martyrdom of punctuality.” “Your sarcasm isn’t especially appreciated, Hugh.” Marjorie flushed deeply, as she resumed the reading of her mail. “I hadn’t the slightest intention of being sarcastic, my dear Marjorie,” he replied, seating himself at the table and reaching for his folded paper, “but as usual, you prefer to misconstrue my meaning.” “Good morning, Dad,” Elinor interrupted, anxious to prevent a needless argument. “You’re looking fine, and you’re all dressed up. Is that a new suit?”