"That's easy. Send Molly with the other maids by the boat. I'll hook your gown."
"There," returned Mrs. Fabian; "you see, you might have suggested that in the first place. I understand you well enough, Kathleen."
"I thought it would be good fun to hob-nob with father. It's so long since I have."
"I'm going to persuade him to leave business early this year. It has worried him unusually this winter. He can if he only thinks so. I reminded him this morning that if he died, the business would have to get on without him. He agreed, but said in that case the loss would be wholly covered by insurance. Rather grim sort of humor, that. I told him I couldn't see anything funny in such talk."
"Poor father," commented Kathleen. "Everybody is tired this time of year. There should be some arrangement of relays in running a business. The winter workers should be turned out to grass in May."
She looked at her father that evening with observant eyes, as together they moved into his den after dinner. It had been closed from the sun all day and he sank into a big leather armchair by a breeze-blown window, following his daughter's white-clad figure with appreciative eyes.
"I'm glad you're through college, Kath," he said.
"So I can light your cigar the rest of my life?" she asked, seating herself on his knee and applying the lighted match.
"Partly that," he answered, drawing in the flame, "and partly for your mother's sake. She needs more companionship than I can give her. She has a gay nature; she likes going out. I hope you aren't too much like me."
"I hope I'm exactly like you," the girl returned devoutly; and leaning forward, she drew in a mouthful of the fragrant cigar smoke and exhaled it through her nostrils. The movement was quick and graceful, and she looked mischievously pretty.