gallantry, and no one had ever
accused him of being disturbed over a call from ladies, under any
circumstances, but all had not yet learned what was the sad, sincere
truth, that Mr. Oldfield decidedly objected to any interruption when he
was smoking his after-breakfast cigar and glancing over the news of the
day. While engaged in this business Mr. Oldfield insisted upon a measure
of quiet and self-concentration. When it was over he was ready to meet
the rest of the world--and not before.

And so he sighed and made his moan to himself as he took his eyes from
the column of The Daily Warwhoop, and bade Joseph show the ladies to the
club library, his pet loafing place, not only despite of, but because of
the fact that it was open to visitors and much frequented by club
members at all hours. Tom Oldfield was a genial and companionable soul.

His welcoming smile faded as his kindly eyes took in the advancing
group. Led by Joseph in a most deferential, not to say deprecating,
manner, the two ladies slowly crossed the big room, and came around the
great table to the chair set for them near Mr. Oldfield's accepted
harbor in the club rooms.

One of the visitors was a middle-aged woman of much elegance of figure,
and with a face the outlines of which were beautiful, while its
expression of discontent, accentuated by lines of worry, made its owner
distinctly unattractive. She was clothed in all the glory of richly
exaggerated plainness and in the latest fashion for morning walking
dress. Her daughter, simply the beautiful mother over again without the
disagreeable expression, though her young face was clouded by grief and
concern, was the other caller. Joseph announced the names of the fair
interlopers, and Oldfield groaned inwardly as he heard them.

"Mrs. and Miss Chester, Mr. Oldfield," said Joseph, with a low and
sweeping Ethiopian bow, and after the ladies were seated he withdrew,
not before casting upon Oldfield, however, a significant glance.

Oldfield was slow to seat himself again, after his greeting to his
guests. Manifestly, he thought, his easy chair would not do for him
during the coming interview. He selected a high-backed cane-seat chair
from those around the writing table, and as he had already twice said,
"Good morning, Mrs. Chester," and "I am very glad to meet you"--the
last being a wicked perversion of his real emotions--he waited for the
party of the second part to open the business of the meeting.

"We