On this particular winter morning the master of the house had failed to find the notice of a sale in his beloved Chronicle. Slightly aggrieved, he made his way into the morning-room beyond, where Helen was occupied poring over household matters. He begged the loan of those crisp sheets, white and pleasant to the touch, that seem to hold a faint suggestion of the class they represent.
He was leaving the room when his wife turned and stopped him with an imperious gesture.
"Can you spare me a moment, Ebenezer?" The request was in truth a command. "I want to talk about Cydonia?"
Cadell, unwillingly, glanced at the clock.
"Well—five minutes—if that will do. What's the trouble about, my dear? Hope there's nothing wrong with the child?"
"Oh, no. I'm thinking of giving a dance. Cydonia's birthday falls next month. It would be a 'coming-out' affair and I want it—naturally—well done."
"Quite right. Dear me!"—the man sighed. "It seems only the other day she was running about in pinafores! I can't think of her as grown-up."
The tender look came into his face that only his daughter could evoke. Mrs. Cadell saw it and smiled, as he added in his pompous manner:
"If it's a question of money, my dear, you needn't spare it. Order the best. I'll settle the bills."
"Thank you. There'll be a good deal to arrange ... But since you approve I'll take it in hand."