Suzanne I'd come to the
end of my rope, and I meant it. I suppose you heard about it?"

"No."

"Oh, Miss Jessop knows. Upsetting a whole luncheon, and one the girls
had worked over, too, I can tell you! Why, they had three reporters on
their knees to hear about that luncheon!"

"Really?" Stanchon inquired politely.

"Yes. But Alida wouldn't let mother say a word. And that was all
right, too. And then what does Aunt Mary do but say she's coming? And
mother weakened and said we'd have to let her, because either she is
all right or she isn't, and according to you, we're not to admit she
isn't--yet. So she comes, and what does she do but insult two of the
biggest swells there, right to their face! And when Suzanne tried to
carry it off, she just turns stubborn and never opens her mouth again.
Queered the whole thing. Broke the women all up. Suzanne says, never
again! And I'm with her. I had Jarvyse called in and he's going to
make his final decision today. Of course, if he wants to consult,
we'll be glad----"

"Dr. Jarvyse and I will settle all that, thanks," Stanchon interrupted
coldly. "I regret that your sisters should have been annoyed, but as I
explained to your mother, inconveniences of this sort would be bound to
occur, and the only question was----"

"The only question is," Edmund blustered, "are we to be queered in New
York for good by a woman who ought to have been shut up long ago! It's
up to me, now, as the man of the house, and I say, no."

He dabbed his cigarette viciously into a wet ring on the silver tray
beside him and filled a tiny glass from a decanter; his hand shook.

Stanchon's mounting wrath subsided. The boy became pathetic to him;
behind his dapper morning clothes, his intricate studs and fobs and
rings, his reedy self-confidence, the physician saw the faint, grisly
shadow of a sickly middle-age, a warped and wasted maturity.

"I'm sorry for you all," he said kindly. "Don't think I don't
appreciate the strain ... your mother has tried her best, I'm sure.
And--and go slow on those cigarettes, Allen, why don't you? They won't
help that cough, you know. And you told me you'd cut out the Scotch."

"Oh, that's all right," Edmund assured him. "I was seasoned in the
cradle, doc! Remember the old man's cigars?"

Stanchon put on his gloves.

"Your father was a very strong man," he said quietly, "and a hard
worker. And I've already reminded you that he didn't inhale. And