He took a stubby quill, which, for some occult reason, he preferred for
his intimate correspondence, and scribbled: "Of course, little friend.
The crowned heads can wait." He tossed the envelope on the pile for
special delivery, and speared the invitation on a letter file.

Two months had passed, and he was no nearer the solution of the problem
he had set himself. His affection for the girl had deepened--become
ratified by his experience of her sweetness and intelligence. They were
"pally," as she put it, happily contented in each other's society. On
the other hand, the fascination that Mrs. Marteen exercised over him was
far from being placid enjoyment. She continued to vex his heart and
irritate his imagination. Her tolerance of young Mahr's attentions to
Dorothy drove him distracted, his only relief being that Miss Gard, his
sister, swayed, as always, by his slightest wish, had developed a most
maternal delight in Dorothy's presence, and was doing all in her power
to make the girl's season a most successful one; also, in accord with
his obvious desire--her influence was antagonistic to Mahr, his son and
his motor car, his house and his flowers, everything that was his; in
spite of which, Dorothy's manner toward Teddy Mahr was undoubtedly one
of encouragement. Honesty compelled Gard to own that he could not find
in the boy the echo of the objectionable sire. Perhaps the long dead
mother, who was never a lawful wife, had, by some retributive turn of
justice, endowed him wholly with her own qualities. Gard could almost
find it in his breast to like the big, large-hearted, gentle boy, but
for a final irony of fate--the son's blind adoration of his father, and
that father's obvious but helpless dislike of the impending romance.
Every element of contradiction seemed to be present in the tangle and to
bind the older watchers to silence. What could anyone do or say? And
meanwhile, in the pause before the storm, Dorothy's violet eyes smiled
into her Teddy's brown devoted ones with tender approval.