"In the library, I suppose," she returned. Then, with a woman's
intuition, she noticed that the third envelope had been touched. Her
lips tightened. "Get dressed, Sam, or you will be late, as usual."

Thayor raised his head and looked at her.

"You never told me, Alice, that you were giving a dinner to-night--I
never knew, in fact, until I found these."

"And having found them you pawed them over." There was a subtle,
almost malicious defiance in her tone. "Go on--what else? Come--be
quick! I must look at my table." One of her hands, glittering with the
rings he had given her, was now on the portiere, screening the dining
room from out which came faintly the clink of silver. She stopped,
her slippered foot tapping the marble floor impatiently. "Well!" she
demanded, her impatience increasing, "what is it?"

"Nothing," he replied slowly--"nothing that you can understand," and
he strode past her up the sweeping stairs.

Margaret was in the biggest chair in the long library, sitting curled
up between its generous arms when he entered. At the moment she was
absorbed in following a hero through the pages of a small volume bound
in red morocco. Thayor watched her for a moment, all his love for her
in his eyes.

"Oh, daddy!" she cried. Her arms were about his neck now, the brown
eyes looking into his own. "Oh, daddy! Oh! I'm so glad you've come.
I've had such a dandy ride to-day!" She paused, and taking his two