Mrs. Milo, all smiles, and with outstretched hands, floated toward him in her most graceful manner. "Ah, Brother Balcome!" she cried warmly.
Balcome halted, seized her left hand, gave it a single shake, dropped it, and stalked across the drawing-room head in air. "Don't call me brother," he said crossly.
Dora, going libraryward, stopped to view him in mingled reproval and sorrow.
"Well, what's the matter with you?" he demanded. "Eh? Eh?"
She shook her head, put her finger-tips together, and directed her gaze upon the ceiling. "'For ye have need of patience,'" she quoted.
"Well, of all the impudent——" began Balcome, giving his knee a loud "whop" with the hat.
"Hebrews," interrupted Dora; "—Hebrews, tenth chapter, and thirty-sixth verse."
Balcome nodded. "I guess you're right," he confided. "Patience. That's it." And to Mrs. Milo, "Say, when do we rehearse this tragedy?"—Whereat Dora cupped one hand over her mouth and fled the room.
Mrs. Balcome was stung to action. "Hear that!" she cried, appealing to
Mrs. Milo. "A father, of his daughter's wedding!"
"Oh, sh!" cautioned Mrs. Milo.