As the older man's eyes, turbulent with affection and anxiety met his, he exclaimed with a sporting attempt at a laugh:
"I'll bet a hat, sir, that when the lady sees you nothing short of being the Mrs. Courtlandt will satisfy her soaring ambition. She won't stand for being merely Mrs. Stephen. By the way, what's the prospect's name?"
"Geraldine. Her father calls her Jerry." Courtlandt senior laughed for the first time that evening. "That's a great idea of yours, Steve. I hadn't thought of offering myself. Perhaps as she only wants the name and position she'd take me and let you off. Your mother would understand," with a tender smile at the woman over the mantel. Her lovely eyes seemed to answer his. For an instant a look of unutterable yearning saddened the man's eyes—then he straightened and looked at his son.
"But no, Glamorgan expressly stipulated that he'd have you for a son-in-law or——"
The light died out of Stephen Courtlandt's face as he muttered furiously under his breath:
"Glamorgan be hanged!"
CHAPTER II
The telephone in the luxurious living-room of their suite rang sharply as Daniel Glamorgan and his daughter entered. The girl looked at the instrument as though she suspected a concealed bomb in its mysterious depths, then appealingly at her father. He took down the receiver.
"Yes. All right. Send them up." He replaced it with a click. His grim mouth softened into a self-congratulatory smile. "Courtlandt and his son are down-stairs," he announced. "Did you order supper, Jerry?"