“Exactly! It's tricky weather, and we must be careful of our guests,” agreed Mr. Harnden. “Call again, young sir!” “I will,” stated Vaniman. He turned and addressed Vona. “The little matter will take no harm if it's postponed till to-morrow,” he told her. His gaze was tender--and the girl looked up at him with an expression which even a careless observer would have found telltale. Britt's vision was sharpened by such jealous venom that he would have misconstrued even innocent familiarity. He had been struggling with his passion ever since Vaniman had appeared, escorting the girl in from the night where the two had been alone together. Age's ugly resentment at being supplanted by youth was sufficiently provocative in this case where Britt ardently longed, and had promised himself what he desired; but to that provocation was added the stinging memory of the blow dealt that day by Youth's hand across Age's withered mouth; he licked the swollen lips with a rabid tongue. He beheld the two young folks exchanging looks that gave to their simple words an import which roused all his fury. Britt shook himself free from all restraint. He had been assured by the Harndens that their home was his haven; he took advantage of that assurance and of the young man's more dubious standing in the household. Britt was holding to the paper-covered novel--it was doubled in his ireful grip and its title showed plainly above his ridged hand--a particularly infelicitous title it seemed to be under the circumstances, because Britt was shaking the book like a cudgel and his demeanor was that of a man who was clutching thorns instead of flowers. He advanced on Frank and his voice made harsh clamor in the little room. “You'd better not take on any more engagements for to-morrow, Vaniman. You'll be mighty busy with me, winding up our business together.” “Very well, sir. And suppose we leave off all matters between us until then!”