"Are you Miss Mix?" said Anthony, feebly.
"I am." She nodded impatiently. "Sarah Mix."
"Then you and my son—" Anthony pursued patiently. "Didn't he write? Aren't you—"
"Engaged? Certainly we are," admitted the lady, with dignity. "And it would no more than serve you right if we got married, after all!" she added, with a sudden smile.
Anthony liked the smile. He smiled broadly in return.
"IF you got married! Do you mean you don't intend to?"
"I see I'll have to tell you," said Miss Mix, suddenly casting hesitation to the winds. "Then we can talk. Yes, we're engaged, Mr. Fox. What else could I do? Anthony's twenty; one can't treat him quite as if he were six. He's absolutely unable to take care of himself; and I've always liked him—always! How COULD I see a girl like Mollie Temple—but of course you don't know her. She's with the 'Giddy Middy' company, playing in San Francisco now."
"No, I don't know her," said Mr. Fox, stiffly.
"Well," continued Miss Mix, "her mother lives here in Palo Alto, and Mollie came home for September. Tony was just what she was looking for. A secret marriage, a sensational divorce, and alimony—Mollie asks nothing more of Fate! She made him her slave."
"Lord!" said Anthony.