floor when her father's latch-key was heard clicking in the front door.
This sound was the unofficial luncheon-gong. The House of Heth proceeded
to the dining-room, where Mr. Heth kissed his daughter's cheek in
jocund greeting.

"Good-_afternoon_, Cally! And you just up--well, well! Times have
changed--

"'Early to bed, early to rise--
That makes us all healthy,
Wise and wealthy--'

"That was my father's rule, and Lord, he kept us to it...."

Mrs. Heth, already seated, bit her lip slightly, which seemed to confer
prominence upon her little mustache. Her consort's habit of quoting, and
especially of misquoting, was trying to her, but she now knew it to be
incurable, like her daughter's occasional mannerism. She sat as usual
rather silent, plotting out the next few hours of her busy time, her
remarks being chiefly of a superfluous managerial nature to that
thoroughly competent African, Moses Bruce.

Carlisle, having so lately risen, ate but a _déjeuner_. Mr. Heth, on the
contrary, attacked the viands with relish, restoring waste tissues from
two directors' meetings, a meeting of the Convention Committee of the
Chamber of Commerce, and an hour in his office at the bank. He was a
full-bodied, good-looking, amiable-mannered man, of sound stock and
excellent digestion, and wore white waistcoats the year round, and fine
blond mustaches, also the year round. He certainly did not look to the
casual eye like a shameless homicide, but rather like an English country