"I don't know whether I made a fool of myself or not, but she's all right. She's got in her the makings of a great woman—very crude, but still the makings. The only thing I object to is, she insists on going back to work, just as if I'd permit such a thing. Do you know what I said on our wedding day? 'Mrs. Howard Jeffries, you are entering one of the oldest families in America. Nature has fitted you for social leadership. You'll be a petted, pampered member of that select few called the "400,"' and now, damn it all, how can I ask her to go back to work? But if you'll let me have that $2,000——"
By this time Howard was beginning to get drowsy. Lying back on the sofa, he proceeded to make himself comfortable.
"Two thousand dollars!" laughed Underwood. "Why, man, I'm in debt up to my eyes."
As far as his condition enabled him, Howard gave a start of surprise.
"Hard up!" he exclaimed. Pointing around the room, he said: "What's all this—a bluff?"
Underwood nodded.
"A bluff, that's it. Not a picture, not a vase, not a stick belongs to me. You'll have to go to your father."
"Never," said Howard despondently. The suggestion was evidently too much for him, because he stretched out his hand for his whiskey glass. "Father's done with me," he said dolefully.
"He'll relent," suggested Underwood.
Howard shook his head drowsily. Touching his brow, he said: