he said.

Eugene was incredulous, even when his second glance revealed how hot of
eye was the haggard young man before him. "I beg your pardon. I said--"

"I heard you," said George. "You said you had an engagement with my
mother, and I told you, No!"

Eugene gave him a steady look, and then he quietly: "What is the--the
difficulty?"

George kept his own voice quiet enough, but that, did not mitigate the
vibrant fury of it. "My--mother will have no interest in knowing that
you came here to-day," he said. "Or any other day!"

Eugene continued to look at him with a scrutiny in which began to gleam
a profound anger, none less powerful because it was so quiet. "I am
afraid I do not understand you."

"I doubt if I could make it much plainer," George said, raising his
voice slightly, "but I'll try. You're not wanted in this house, Mr.
Morgan, now or at any other time. Perhaps you'll understand--this!"

And with the last word he closed the door in Eugene's face.

Then, not moving away, he stood just inside door, and noted that the
misty silhouette remained upon the frosted glass for several moments,
as if the forbidden gentleman debated in his mind what course to pursue.
"Let him ring again!" George thought grimly. "Or try the side door--or
the kitchen!"

But Eugene made no further attempt; the silhouette disappeared;
footsteps could be heard withdrawing across the floor of the veranda;
and George, returning to the window in the "reception room," was
rewarded by the sight of an automobile manufacturer in baffled retreat,
with all his wooing furs and fineries mocking him. Eugene got into his
car slowly, not looking back at the house which had just taught him such
a lesson; and it was easily visible--even from a window seventy feet
distant--that he was not the same light suitor who had jumped so
gallantly from the car only a few minutes earlier. Observing the
heaviness of his movements as he climbed into the tonneau, George
indulged in a sickish throat rumble which bore a distant cousinship to
mirth.

The car was quicker than its owner; it shot away as soon as he had sunk
into his seat; and George, having watched its impetuous disappearance
from his field of vision, ceased to haunt the window. He went to the
library, and, seating himself beside the table whereon he had placed
the photograph of his father, picked up a book, and pretended to be
engaged in reading it.

Presently Isabel's buoyant step was heard descen