"Nancy, give Mr. Vandegrift another saucer," said Dr. Prue.

"My dear, there is no need. I can pour this back," he protested. Then, a
fresh saucer having been substituted, he went on: "Take a landscape----"

"I haven't time for landscapes this morning, father. I am due at the
hospital at nine. You'll have to excuse me."

"Well, what I was going to say is, that it is the combination of all
her separate qualities and characteristics, manifested in ways and
otherwise, that is beautiful--that constitutes beauty. The something
that makes her Margaret Elizabeth, that subtle--" Uncle Bob was talking
against time.

"Now, father," Dr. Prue pushed back her chair and rose, "there is
nothing subtle about Margaret Elizabeth, and you know it. She is a
thoroughly nice, quite pretty girl, and that is all there is to it. If
those Penningtons don't spoil her." With this the doctor disappeared.

"Miss Prue and her pa do argufy to beat the band," Nancy remarked to
Jenny the cook as she waited for hot cakes.

"That's all, Nancy. I shan't want any more," her master told her when
she carried them into the dining-room. "You needn't wait." As the door
closed behind her he smiled to himself. He always enjoyed the leisurely
comfort of those last cakes.

The morning sun shone in brightly, emphasising the pleasant, substantial
appointments of the room and the breakfast table. Its glint in the old
silver coffee pot was a joy to him; the unopened paper at his elbow