At his side she says: "Mr. Southmead, if you have finished your business with Mrs. Livingston, I have some for you. I want to inform you that Mrs. Livingston, her daughter Miss Louise, her son Mr. Chauncey, and myself, intend to take a trip to California, and to ask you, as my trustee, if you have any objection to the same. I presume that it is a mere form, as you are not my guardian."
"You have written to your father?" asks Whitehouse hastily.
"No," laughs the girl. "I intend it to be a surprise to papa."
"Then, let me suggest," answers the lawyer, something of a shade passing over his brow, "that you write to Mr. Travenion first."
"Impossible! We have not time! We leave in three days! Fancy—in a little over a week I shall see my father. You wouldn't deprive me of that pleasure, would you, Mr. Southmead?"
"No! but I would suggest that you telegraph him."
"I can't. I have not heard from papa for two weeks, and I do not know his address. Besides, it will be such a surprise!" Miss Travenion has thrown away contemplation from her, and is all brightness and gayety.
"Of course I can have no objections," says Whitehouse.
"Then you don't think it wise?" mutters the girl, with a pout.
"I don't say that. I have no doubt it is all right, and I know your father will be pleased to see you."