"I will write, every day—if you don't mind."
"No—I don't mind," she said thoughtfully.
She withdrew her hand and stood perfectly still as he left the room. She heard a servant open the door, she heard Harroll's quick step echo on the stoop, then the door closed.
A second later Mr. Delancy in the library was aroused from complacent meditation by the swish of a silken skirt, and glancing up, beheld a tall, prettily formed girl looking at him with a sober and rather colorless face.
"Father," she said, "I'm in love with Jim Harroll!"
Mr. Delancy groped for his monocle, screwed it into his left eye, and examined his daughter.
"It's true, and I thought I'd better tell you," she said.
"Yes," he agreed, "it's as well to let me know. Ah—er—when and how did it occur?"
"I don't know, father. I was feeding Omar bonbons and looking over the map of South Florida, and thinking about nothing in particular, when Jim came in. He said he was going to Palm Beach, and I said, 'How jolly!' and he sat down and picked up Omar, and—I don't know how it was, but I began to think him very attractive, and the first thing I knew—it—happened!"
"Oh! So that's the way it happened?"