Over her daughter’s shoulder Adelaide noted her father’s expression, a stiffening of the mouth and a brightening of the eyes. “Your grandfather disapproves of me, Mathilde,” she said. “He couldn’t be so unkind,” returned the girl. “After all,” said Mr. Lanley, trying to induce a slight scowl, “if we are not going to consent to an engagement--” “But you are,” said Mathilde. “We are not,” said her mother; “but there is no reason why we should not meet and talk it over like sensible creatures--talk it over here”--Adelaide looked lovingly around her own subdued room--“instead of five stories up. For really--” She stopped, running her eyebrows together at the recollection. “But the flat is rather--rather comfortable when you get there,” said Mr. Lanley, suddenly becoming embarrassed over his choice of an adjective. Adelaide looked at him sharply. “Dear Papa,” she asked, “since when have you become an admirer of painted shelves and dirty rugs? And I don’t doubt,” she added very gently, “that for the same money they could have found something quite tolerable in the country.” “Perhaps they don’t want to live in the country,” said Mr. Lanley, rather sharply: “I’m sure there is nothing that you’d hate more, Adelaide.” She opened her dark eyes. “But I don’t have to choose between squalor here or--” “Squalor!” said Mr. Lanley. “Don’t be ridiculous!” Mathilde broke in gently at this point: “I think you must have liked Mrs. Wayne, Mama, to ask her to dine.” Adelaide saw an opportunity to exercise one of her important talents. “Yes,” she said. “She has a certain naïve friendliness. Of course I don’t advocate, after fifty, dressing like an Eton boy; I always think an elderly face above a turned-down collar--” “Mama,” broke in Mathilde, quietly, “would you mind not talking of Mrs. Wayne like that? You know, she’s Pete’s mother.” Adelaide was really surprised. “Why, my love,” she answered, “I haven’t said half the things I might say. I rather thought I was sparing your feelings. After all, when you see her, you will admit that she _does_ dress like an Eton boy.” “She didn’t when I saw her,” said Mr. Lanley. Adelaide turned to her father. “Papa, I leave it to you. Did I say anything that should have wounded anybody’s susceptibilities?” Mr. Lanley hesitated. “It was the tone Mathilde did not like, I think.” Adelaide raised her shoulders and looked beautifully hurt. “My tone?” she wailed. “It hurt me,” said Mathilde, laying her little hand on her heart. Mr. Lanley smiled at her, and then, springing up, kissed her tenderly on the forehead. He said it was time for him to be going on. “You’ll come to dinner to-night, Papa?” Rather hastily, Mr. Lanley said no, he couldn’t; he had an engagement. But his daughter did not let him get to the door. “What are you going to do to-night, Papa?” she asked, firmly. “There is a governor’s meeting--” “Two in a week, Papa?”