Dexter Manford? Well--Dexter Manford's daughter had to admit that it really wasn't his business if his step-son's marriage threatened to be a failure; and besides, Nona knew how overwhelmed with work her father always was, and hesitated to lay this extra burden on him. For it would be a burden. Manford was very fond of Jim (as indeed they all were), and had been extremely kind to him. It was entirely owing to Manford's influence that Jim, who was regarded as vague and unreliable, had got such a good berth in the Amalgamated Trust Co.; and Manford had been much pleased at the way in which the boy had stuck to his job. Just like Jim, Nona thought tenderly--if ever you could induce him to do anything at all, he always did it with such marvellous neatness and persistency. And the incentive of working for Lita and the boy was enough to anchor him to his task for life. A new scent--unrecognizable but exquisite. In its wake came Lita Wyant, half-dancing, half-drifting, fastening a necklace, humming a tune, her little round head, with the goldfish-coloured hair, the mother-of-pearl complexion and screwed-up auburn eyes, turning sideways like a bird's on her long throat. She was astonished but delighted to see Nona, indifferent to her husband's non-arrival, and utterly unaware that lunch had been waiting for half an hour. "I had a sandwich and a cocktail after my exercises. I don't suppose it's time for me to be hungry again," she conjectured. "But perhaps you are, you poor child. Have you been waiting long?" "Not much! I know you too well to be punctual," Nona laughed. Lita widened her eyes. "Are you suggesting that I'm not? Well, then, how about your ideal brother?" "He's down town working to keep a roof over your head and your son's." Lita shrugged. "Oh, a roof--I don't care much for roofs, do you--or is it _rooves_? Not this one, at any rate." She caught Nona by the shoulders, held her at arm's-length, and with tilted head and persuasively narrowed eyes, demanded: "This room is _awful_, isn't it? Now acknowledge that it is! And Jim won't give me the money to do it over." "Do it over? But, Lita, you did it exactly as you pleased two years ago!" "Two years ago? Do you mean to say you like anything that you liked two years ago?" "Yes--you!" Nona retorted: adding rather helplessly: "And, besides, everybody admires the room so much--." She stopped, feeling that she was talking exactly like her mother. Lita's little hands dropped in a gesture of despair. "That's just it! _Everybody_ admires it. Even Mrs. Manford does. And when you think what sort of things _Everybody_ admires! What's the use of pretending, Nona? It's the typical _cliché_ drawing-room. Every one of the couples who were married the year we were has one like it. The first time Tommy Ardwin saw it--you know he's the new decorator--he said: 'Gracious, how familiar all this seems!' and began to whistle '_Home, Sweet Home_'!"