ncheon, but the papa did not tell them,
and the children were sent away. It was Mrs. Easterfield who told the
stories, and Mr. Tom was a most interested listener.

"Well," said he, when she had finished, "this seems to be a somewhat
tangled state of affairs."

"It certainly is," she replied, "and I tangled them."

"And you expect me to straighten them?" he asked.

"Of course I do," she replied, "and I expect you to begin by sending Mr.
Hemphill away. You know I could not do it, but I should think it would
be easy for you."

"Would you object if I lighted a cigar?" he asked.

"Of course not," she said. "Did you ever hear me object to anything of
the kind?"

"No," said he, "but I never have smoked in this room, and I thought
perhaps Miss Raleigh might object when she came in to do your writing."

"My writing!" exclaimed Mrs. Easterfield. "Now don't trifle! This is no
time to make fun of me. Olive may be accepting him this minute."

"It seems to me," said Mr. Easterfield, slowly puffing his cigar, "that
it would not be such a very bad thing if she did. So far as I have been
able to judge, he is my favorite of the claimants. Du Brant and I have
met frequently, and if I were a girl I would not want to marry him.
Locker is too little for Miss Asher, and, besides, he is too flighty.
Your young professor may be good enough, but from my limited
conversation with him at the table I could not form much of an opinion
as to him one way or another. I have an opinion of Hemphill, and a very
good one. He is a first-class young man, a rising one with prospects,
and, more than that, I think he is the best-looking of the lot."

"Tom," said Mrs. Easterfield, "do you suppose I sent for you to talk
such nonsense as that? Can you imagine that my sense of honor toward
Olive's parents would allow me even to consider a marriage between a
high-class girl, such as she is--high-class in every way--to a mere
commonplace private secretary? I don't care what his attributes and
merits are; he is commonplace to the backbone; and he is impossible. If
what ought to be a brilliant career ends suddenly in Rupert Hemphill I
shall have Olive on my conscience for the rest of my life."

"That settles it," said Mr. Tom Easterfield; "your conscience, my dear,
has not been trained to carry loads, and I shall not help to put one on
it. Hemphill is a good man, but we must rule him out."

"Yes," said she, "Olive is a great deal more than good. He must be