f rolling-mills some friends of theirs owned, and
I'm afraid the mills haven't been doing well."

"What of that? Father needn't worry. You and I could take care of him
the rest of his life on what grandfather--"

"Of course," she agreed. "But your father's always lived so for his
business and taken such pride in his sound investments; it's a passion
with him. I--"

"Pshaw! He needn't worry! You tell him we'll look after him: we'll build
him a little stone bank in the backyard, if he busts up, and he can go
and put his pennies in it every morning. That'll keep him just as happy
as he ever was!" He kissed her. "Good-night, I'm going to tell Lucy
good-bye. Don't sit up for me."

She walked to the front gate with him, still holding his hand, and he
told her again not to "sit up" for him.

"Yes, I will," she laughed. "You won't be very late."

"Well--it's my last night."

"But I know Lucy, and she knows I want to see you, too, your last night.
You'll see: she'll send you home promptly at eleven!"

But she was mistaken: Lucy sent him home promptly at ten.

Chapter XII

Isabel's uneasiness about her husbands health--sometimes reflected in
her letters to George during the winter that followed--had not been
alleviated when the accredited Senior returned for his next summer
vacation, and she confided to him in his room, soon after his arrival,
that "something" the doctor had said to her lately had made her more
uneasy than ever.

"Still worrying over his rolling-mills investments?" George asked, not
seriously impressed.

"I'm afraid it's past that stage from what Dr Rainey says. His worries
only aggravate his condition now. Dr. Rainey says we ought to get him
away."

"Well, let's do it, then."

"He won't go."

"He's a man awfully set in his ways; that's true," said George. "I don't
think there's anything much the matter with him, though, and he looks
just the same to me. Have you seen Lucy lately? How is she?"

"Hasn't she written you?"

"Oh, about once a month," he answered carelessly. "Never says much about
herself. How's she look?"

"She looks--pretty!" said Isabel. "I suppose she wrote you they've
moved?"

"Yes; I've got her address. She said they were building."

"They did. It's all finished, and they've been in it a month. Lucy is so
capable; she keeps house exquisitely. It's small, but oh, such a pretty
little house!"

"Well, that's fortunate," George said. "One thing I've always felt