The old man gulped a moment, but finally got it down. “The moving pictures! Indeed, ma'am! My wife and I are very fond of the--the movies, as the saying is.” “Everybody is, isn't they--aren't they? Perhaps you have seen Miss Anita Adair in the--er--pictures.” “Miss Anita Adair? Oh, I should say we 'ave! And is she the young lady?” “Yes. They are coming to live with us for a time.” “Oh, that will be very pleasant! Quite an honor, you might say--That will make two extra at dinner, then?” “Yes. No--that is, we were expecting Mr. and Mrs. Schuyler, but I wish you would telephone them that I am quite ill--not very, you understand--a bad cold, I think, would be best. Something to keep me to my room for the day.” “Very good, ma'am. Was there anything else?” “No--oh yes--ask Mrs. Abby to have the Louis Seize room made ready, will you?” “Very good--and some flowers, per'aps, I suppose.” “Yes.” “Thank you.” He shuffled out, bowed under the weight of the calamity, as if he had an invisible trunk on his back. He gathered the servants in solemn conclave in their sitting-room and delivered a funeral oration over young Mr. Jim. There were tears in the eyes of the women-servants and curses in the throats of the men. They all adored Mr. Jim, and their recent pride in his triumph over Peter Cheever was turned to ashes. He had married into the movies! They supposed that he must have been drinkin' very 'ard. Jim's valet said: “This is as good as handin' me my notice.” But, then, Dallam was a ratty soul and was for deserting a sinking ship. Wotton and the others felt that their loyalty was only now to be put to the test. They must help the old folks through it. There was one ray of hope: such marriages did not last long in America. CHAPTER VII Jim hastened to Kedzie, and she greeted him with anxiety. She saw by his radiant face that he brought cheerful news. “I've seen mother,” he exclaimed, “and she's tickled to death with your picture. She wants to see you right away. She wouldn't listen to anything but your coming right over to live at our house till we decide what we want to do.” Kedzie's heart turned a somersault of joy; then it flopped. “I've got no clothes fit for your house.” “Oh, Lord!” Jim groaned. “What do you think we are, a continual reception? You can go out to-morrow and shop all you want to.” “We-ell, all ri-ight,” Kedzie pondered. Jim was taken aback at her failure to glow with his success; and when she said, “I hate to leave momma and poppa,” he writhed. He had neither the courage nor the inclination to invite them to come along and make a jolly house-party. There was room enough for a dozen Thropps in the big house, but he doubted if there were room in his mother's heart for three Thropps at a time, or for the elder Thropps at any time. After all, his mother had some rights. He protected them by lying glibly.