no and went out into
the entrance-hall to answer it, the servants having gone down to Port
Agnew to a motion-picture show. A moment later, she returned to the
living-room, leaving the door to the entrance-hall open.

"You're wanted on the telephone, Don!" she cried gaily. "Such a sweet
voice, too!"

Mrs. McKaye and Elizabeth looked up from their knitting. They were
not accustomed to having Donald called to the telephone by young
ladies. Donald laid his magazine aside and strode to the telephone;
The Laird faced about in his chair, and a harried look crept into his
eyes.

"Close the door to the entrance-hall, Jane," he commanded.

"Oh, dear me, no!" his spoiled daughter protested. "It would be too
great a strain on our feminine curiosity not to eavesdrop on Don's
little romance."

"Close it!" The Laird repeated. He was too late. Through the open
door, Donald's voice reached them:

"Oh, you poor girl! I'm so sorry, Nan dear. I'll be over immediately."
His voice dropped several octaves, but the words came to the listeners
none the less distinctly. "Be brave, sweetheart."

Mrs. McKaye glanced at her husband in time to see him avert his face;
she noted how he clutched the arm of his chair.

To quote a homely phrase, the cat was out of the bag at last. Donald's
face wore a troubled expression as he reentered the living-room. His
mother spoke first.

"Donald! _My_ son!" she murmured tragically.

"Hum-m--!" The Laird grunted. The storm had broken at last, and,
following the trend of human nature, he was conscious of sudden
relief.

Jane was the first to recover her customary aplomb.

"Don dear," she cooed throatily, "are we mistaken in our assumption
that the person with whom you have just talked is Nan Brent?"

"Your penetration does you credit, Jane. It was."

"And did our ears deceive us or did we really hear you call her
'dear' and 'sweetheart'?"

"It is quite possible," Donald answered. He crossed the room and
paused beside his father. "Caleb Brent blinked out a few minutes ago,
dad. It was quite sudden. Heart-trouble. Nan's all alone down there,
and of course she needs help. I'm going. I'll leave to you the job of
explaining the situation to mother and the girls. Good-night, pop; I
think you understand."

Mrs. McKaye was too stunned, too horrified, to find refuge in tears.

"How dare that woman ring you up?" she demanded haughtily. "The
hussy!"

"Why, mother dear, she has to have help," her son su