knew me there, so the family
name is safe and you can rest in peace. I called a taxi and when he
tried to follow me in I slapped him and kicked him. Kicked him,
mother. Dreadfully undignified, wasn't it? . . . And that's what you
want me to marry, in place of a man!"

Mrs. Hardy was chattering with mortification and excitement. Her plans
had miscarried. Irene had misbehaved. Irene was a difficult,
headstrong child. It was useless to argue with her in her present
mood. It was useless to argue with her in any mood. No doubt Carlton
had been impetuous. Nevertheless, he stood high in his set, and his
father was something of a power in the financial world. As the wife of
such a man Irene might have a career before her--a career from which at
least some of the glory would reflect upon the silvering head of the
mother of Mrs. Carlton. And now Irene, by her folly and her
ungovernable temper, had spoiled all the carefully laid plans. Mrs.
Hardy was a very badly used woman.

"Go to your room," she said, at length. "You are in no condition to
talk to-night. I must say it is a shame that you can't go out for an
evening without drinking too much and making a scene. . . . In a
public place, too. . . . What will Mr. Carlton think of you?"

"If he remembers all I told him about himself he'll have enough to
think of," the girl blazed back. "You know--what I have told you--and
still _Mister_ Carlton stands as high in your sight as ever. _I_ am
the one to blame. Very well. I've tried your choice, and I've tried
my own. Now I am in a position to judge. There will be nothing to
talk about in the morning. Mention Carlton's name to me again and I
will give the whole incident to the papers. With photographs. And
names. Fancy the feature heading, 'Society girl, intoxicated, kicks
escort out of taxi.' Good night."

But other matters were to demand the attention of mother and daughter
in the morning. While the scene was occurring in Mrs. Hardy's bed-room
her husband, clad in white, toiled in the operating room to save the
life of a fellow being. It was an emergency operation, performed by
artificial light, and without adequate assistance. There was a slip of
an instrument, but the surgeon toiled on; he could not, at that
juncture, pause; the life of the patient was at stake. When the
operation was finished he found his injury deeper than he supposed, and
Irene was summoned from her heavy sleep that morning to