t it all means. You are used to very many habits of living which will
be entirely beyond Anthony's means for many years to come. You are fond of
travel--of dress--of social----"

"Father dear," said his daughter, interrupting him gently by a change of
tactics. She came to him and sat upon the arm of his chair, and rested her
cheek lightly upon the top of his thick, iron-gray locks.--"Let's drop all
this for the present. Let's not discuss it. I want you to do me a
particular favour before we say another word about it. Come with me down
to see the house. It's only three hours away. We can go after breakfast
to-morrow and be back for dinner at seven. It's all I ask. My arguments
are all there. Please!--_Please!_"

So it came about that at eleven o'clock on a certain morning in August,
Mr. Horatio Marcy discovered himself to be eyeing with critical, reluctant
gaze a quaintly attractive, low-spreading white house among trees and
vines. He became aware at the same time of a sudden close clasp on his
arm.

"Here it is," said a low voice in his ear. "Does it look habitable?"

"Very pretty, very pretty, my dear," Mr. Marcy admitted. No sane man could
do otherwise. The little house might have been placed very comfortably
between the walls of the dining-room at the Marcy country house, but there
was an indefinable, undeniable air of gracious hospitality and
homelikeness about its aspect, and its surroundings gave it an appearance
of being ample for the accommodation of any two people not anxious to get
away from each other.

Juliet produced an antique door-key of a clumsy pattern, and opened the
door into the living-room. She ran across to the windows and threw them
open, then turned to see what expression might be at the moment illumining
Mr. Marcy's face. He was glancing about him with curious eyes, which
rested finally upon the portrait of a courtly gentleman in ruffles and
flowing hair, hanging above the fireplace. He adjusted a pair of
eyeglasses and gave the portrait the honour of his serious attention.

"That is an ancestor," Juliet explained. "Doesn't he give distinction to
the room? And isn't the room--well--just a little bit distinguished-looking
itself, in spite of its simplicity?--because of it, perhaps. The tables
and most of the chairs are what Anthony found left in the old Kentucky
homestead after the sale last year, and bought in with--the last of his
money." Her eyes were very bright, but her voice was quiet.