e you have called, Mr. Carmody."

"Yes. We old fellows rarely drift outside the groove of our fixed orbit.
One by one we drop out, and as each one passes beyond it shortens the
orbit of the others. The circle is always contracting--never expanding.
The last one of us will be found in his dotage never venturing beyond
the circle of his own fireside until he, too, shall answer the call."

The voice held a note of sadness which touched the girl deeply, and she
suddenly noted that the fine patrician face had aged.

"You should not speak of being old," she said gently. "Why, you are
called the Wizard of Wall Street."

"A man is only as old as he feels. Until recently I have considered
myself a young man. But of late I feel that I am losing my grip."

"Isn't that a dangerous admission? If it should become known on the
Street----"

"Ha!"--the heavy gray eyebrows met with a ferocity which belied the
smile that curved the thin lips--"if it were but whispered upon the
Street the wolves would be at my throat before morning. But they would
have a fight on their hands! However, all that is beside the purpose. I
suppose you are wondering why I called?"

The girl was momentarily at a loss for a reply. "Why, I--You know you
are always welcome here."

"Yes, yes. But, as you must have surmised, I called with a definite
object in view. A matter that concerns you and--er, my son."

The girl turned a shade paler.

"I do not understand," she replied.

"Nor do I. I have come to you at the risk of being thought a meddling
old fool! But the fact is, I have several times lately heard your name
mentioned in connection with William's, and recently there came into my
possession this packet of letters addressed to my son in a feminine
hand and bearing the Manton crest."

The girl's face flushed as she took the proffered packet and waited for
him to continue.

"Fred Manton was my best friend," went on the old man, "and I won't see
harm come to his daughter, if I can prevent it. You two may be just
friends; you may be engaged--or married, for all I know. My son never
deemed it worth while to take me into his confidence. In either case, I
am here--and I will have my say. I shall put myself in the place of
your father and speak as, I believe, he would have spoken. I may seem
harsh and bitter toward my own son, but remember, Miss Ethel, I have
had vastly more experience in the ways of the world than you have--and
I know whereof I speak.