"Your father's home again?" Lois asked indifferently.
"Yes. He has something to do here about those bonds of Charlie Holton's. It sounded rather complicated; and he wants to see Fred, and Amy was to call him into town."
Lois's mind was upon the gown. She compressed her lips as she continued to scrutinize it. It was a gown from Paris and a very handsome one. Having decided that it suited her purposes, she brought out a hat that matched it and tossed it onto the bed.
"How do you think I'd look in those things?"
"Adorable! Shall I order up the machine?"
"Um, no: I'll walk, I think."
"I rather take it that I'm not invited," laughed Phil.
"Bless me, no! I have a call to make that wouldn't interest you."
Phil walked to the bureau—a new one of mahogany that had been among her mother's recent substitutions for the old walnut with which the house had been filled. The folder of a steamship company lay sprawled open across the neatly arranged toilet articles. Phil picked it up idly, and noted certain pencilings that caused her heart to give a sudden bound. She flung round upon her mother with tears in her eyes.
"You are not—not thinking of that!"