"You know what I need in the country—where we were before."
A bow.
"Pack, Rosa. And you will go, of course."
"And Potter, Madam?"
"Potter, too. You'll have to pack a few things up here also." A white hand indicated the wardrobe door.
"Very well, Madam."
As the door closed, the telephone rang. Gwendolyn's father rose to answer it. "I think it's the office, dear," he explained; and into the transmitter—"Yes?... Hello?... Yes. Good-morning!... Oh, thanks! She's better.... And by the way, just close out that line of stocks. Yes.... I shan't be back in the office for some time. I'm leaving for the country as soon as Gwendolyn can stand the trip. To-morrow, maybe, or the next day.... No; don't go into the market until I come back. I intend to reconstruct my policy a good deal. Yes.... Oh, yes.... Good-by."
He went to the front window. And as he stood in the light, Gwendolyn lay and looked at him. He had worn green the night before. But now there was not a vestige of paper money showing anywhere in his dress. In fact, he was wearing the suit—a dark blue—he had worn that night she penetrated to the library.
"Fath-er."
"Well, little daughter?"