The portly colored waiter, in dress coat and white vest, has just
placed the soup on the table, and Mr. Allen enters, supporting his
wife. He had sort of manly toleration for all her whims and
weaknesses. He had never indulged in any lofty ideas of womanhood, nor
had any special longings for her sympathy and companionship. Business
was the one engrossing thing of his life, and this he honestly
believed woman incapable of, from her very nature. It was true of his
wife, but due to a false education rather than to any innate
difficulties, and he no more expected her to comprehend and sympathize
intelligently with his business operations, than to see her go down to
Wall Street with him wearing his hat and coat.

She had been the leading belle in his set years ago. He had admired
her immensely as a stylish, beautiful woman, and carried her off from
dozens of competitors, who were fortunate in their failure. He always
maintained a show of gallantry and deference; which, though but
veneer, was certainly better than open disregard and brutal neglect.

So now, with a good-natured tolerance and politeness, he seated the
feeble creature in a cushioned chair at the table, treating her more
like a spoiled child than as a friend and companion. The girls
immediately appeared also, for they knew their father's weakness too
well to keep him waiting for his dinner.

Zell bounded into his arms in her usual impulsive style, and the
father caressed her in a way that showed that his heart was very
tender toward his youngest child.

"And so my baby is seventeen to-day," he said. "Well, well, how fast
we are growing old."