Crystal moved her head about as if things had now reached a point where it wasn’t even worth while to be angry. “About me?” “It seems you’re a socialist, my dear. Eddie asked me how long it was since I had taken an inventory of your economic beliefs. I could not remember that I ever had, but perhaps you will tell them to me now. That is,” Mr. Cord added, “if you can do it without scolding me—probably an impossible condition to impose nowadays.” “It’s a pity about Eddie,” said Crystal, fiercely. “If only stupid people would be content to be stupid, instead of trying to run the world—” “Ah, my dear, it’s only stupid people who are under the impression that they can. Good morning again, Eddie, we were just speaking of you.” Mr. Cord added the last sentence without the slightest change of tone or expression as his guest was ushered in by Tomes, who, catching Crystal’s eyes for a more important fact than Eddie’s arrival, murmured that luncheon was served. “Well, Eddie,” said Crystal, and there was a sort of gay vibration in her whole figure, and her tone was like a bright banner of war, “and so you came round to complain to my father, did you?” Mr. Cord laid his hand on her shoulder. “Do you think you could demolish Eddie just as well at table, my dear?” he said. “If so, there’s no use in letting the food get cold.” “Oh, she can do it anywhere,” replied Eddie, bitterly, and then, striking his habitual note of warning, he went on, “but, honestly, Crystal, if you had heard what your father and I heard this morning—” “I had a visit from David’s brother this morning,” put in Mr. Cord, “the editor of your favorite morning paper.” “Ben Moreton, here! Oh, _father_, why didn’t you call me? Yes, I know,” she added, as her father opened his mouth to say that she had left most particular instructions that she was to be allowed to sleep as late as she could, “I know, but you must have known I should have wanted to look David’s brother over. Has he long hair? Does he wear a soft tie? Did you hate him?” “Eddie didn’t take much of a fancy to him.” “I should say not. A damned, hollow-eyed fanatic.” “Is he as good-looking as David, father? What does he look like?” Mr. Cord hesitated. “Well, a little like my engraving of Thomas Jefferson as a young man.” “He looks as if he might have a bomb in his pocket.” “Oh, Eddie, do keep quiet, there’s a dear, and let father give me one of his long, wonderful accounts. Go ahead, father.” “Well,” said Mr. Cord, helping himself from a dish that Tomes was presenting to him, “as I told you, Eddie had dropped in very kindly to scold me about you, when Tomes announced Mr. Moreton. Tomes thought he ought to be put straight out of the house. Didn’t you, Tomes?” “No, sir,” said Tomes, who was getting used to his employer, although he did not encourage this sort of thing, particularly before the footmen. “Well, Moreton came in and said, very simply—” “Has he good manners, father?”