"Oh, bother the lather, father!" Ella exclaimed. "Read the cablegram, or
let me."

Her father smoothed it out before him and read--

"To Lord Ashleigh, Hamblin House, Dorset, England.

"I find a magnificent programme arranged for at Metropolitan
Opera House this year. Have taken box for your daughter, engaged
the best professor in the world, and secured an apartment at the
Leeland, our most select and comfortable residential hotel.
Understand your brother is still in South America, returning
early spring, but will do our best to make your daughter's year
of study as pleasant as possible. Advise her sail on Saturday by
Mauretania."

"On Saturday?" Ella almost screamed.

"New York!" Lady Ashleigh murmured disconsolately. "How impossible,
George!"

Her husband handed over the letter and cablegram, which Ella at once
pounced upon. He then unfolded the local newspaper and proceeded to make
an excellent breakfast. When he had quite finished, he lit a cigarette and
rose a little abruptly to his feet as a car glided out of the stable yard
and slowly approached the front door.

"I shall now," he said, "leave you to talk over and discuss this matter
for the rest of the day. I believe you said, dear," he added, turning to
his wife, "that we were dining alone to-night?"