Georgia race. Car in fine shape. Lestrange.'
That was all."

Mr. Ffrench deliberately passed his coffee-cup to Emily.

"You had better take your breakfast," he advised. "It is unusual to
see you noticing business affairs, Dick; I might say unprecedented. I
am glad if Bailey's new man is capable of his work, at least. I
suppose for the rest, that he could scarcely do less than take an
injured person to the hospital. Why are you putting sugar in my cup,
Emily?"

"I don't know," she acknowledged helplessly.

"I didn't mean to disturb any one," said Dick, sulky and resentful.
"It'll be a big thing though for our cars, Bailey says. I didn't know
you disliked Lestrange."

Mr. Ffrench stiffened in his chair.

"I have not sufficient interest in the man to dislike him," was the
cold rebuke. "We will change the subject."

Emily bent her head, remedying her mistake with the coffee. She
comprehended that her uncle had conceived one of his strong, silent
antipathies for the young manager, and she was sorry. Sorry, although,
remembering Bailey's unfortunate speech the night Lestrange's
engagement was proposed, she was not surprised. But she looked across
to Dick sympathetically. So sympathetically, that after breakfast he
followed her into the library, the colored journals in his hand.

"What's the matter with the old gentleman this morning?" he
complained. "He wants the business to succeed, doesn't he? If he does,
he ought to like what Lestrange is doing for it. What's the matter
with him?"

Emily shook back her yellow curls, turning her gaze on him.

"You might guess, Dickie. He is lonely."

"Lonely! He!"

All the feminine impulse to defend flared up.

"Why not?" she exclaimed with passion. "Who has he got? Who stands
with him in his house? No wonder he can not bear the man who is hired
to do what a Ffrench should be doing. It is not the racing driver he
dislikes, but the manager. And do not you blame him, Dick Ffrench."

Quite aghast, he stared after her as she turned away to the nearest
window. But presently he followed her over, still holding the papers.

"Don't you want to read about the race?" he ventured.

Smiling, though her lashes were damp, Emily accepted the peace
offering.

"Yes, please."

"You're not angry? You know I'm a stupid chump sometimes; I don't mean
it."

This time she laughed outright.

"No; I am sorry I was cross. It is I who would like to shirk my work.
Never mind me; let us read.