He was impersonally admiring her Whistler when the maid brushed
aside the portieres. She had come to bring Mrs. Van Tyle a
telegram.

"No answer, Pratt."

After the maid had retired her mistress called James to her side.
Over her shoulder he read it.

"Glad he is an American and not living on his father. Didn't think
you had so much sense. Tell that young man I want to see him in
New York immediately."

The message was signed with the name of her father.

"What do you suppose he wants with you in New York?"

James was radiant. He kissed the perfect lips turned toward him
before he answered. "Oh, to make me president of the
Transcontinental maybe. How should I know? It's an olive branch.
Isn't that enough?"

"When shall you go?"

He looked at his watch. "The limited leaves at nine-thirty. That
gives me nearly an hour."

"You're not going to-night?"

"I'm going to-night. I must, dear. Those are the orders and I've