use I'm richer than Pete that you won't take me
in?" asked Mathilde, visions of bestowing her wealth in charity flitting
across her mind.

The other nodded. Wayne stared.

"Mother," he said, "you don't mean to say you are letting yourself be
influenced by a taunt like that of Mrs. Farron's, which she didn't even
believe herself?"

Mrs. Wayne was shocked.

"Oh, no; not that, Pete. It isn't that at all. But when a girl has been
brought up--"

Wayne saw it all in an instant.

"Oh, yes, I see. We'll talk of that later."

But Adelaide had seen, too.

"No; do go on, Mrs. Wayne. You don't approve of the way my daughter has
been brought up."

"I don't think she has been brought up to be a poor man's wife."

"No. I own I did not have that particular destiny in mind."

"And when I heard you assuming just now that every one was always
concerned about money, and when I realized that the girl must have been
brought up in that atmosphere and belief--"

"I see. You thought she was not quite the right wife for your son?"

"But I would try so hard," said Mathilde. "I would learn; I--"

"Mathilde," interrupted her mother, "when a lady tells you you are not
good enough for her son, you must not protest."

"Come, come, Adelaide, there is no use in being disagreeable," said
Mr. Lanley.

"Disagreeable!" returned his daughter. "Mrs. Wayne and I are entirely
agreed. She thinks her son too good for my daughter, and I think my
daughter too good for her son. Really, there seems nothing more to be
said. Good-by, Mr. Wayne." She held out her long, white hand to him. Mrs.
Wayne was trying to make her position clearer to Mathilde, but Pete
thought this an undesirable moment for such an attempt.

Partly as an assertion of his rights, partly because she looked so young
and helpless, he stopped and kissed her.

"I'll come and see you about half-past ten tomorrow morning," he said
very clearly, so that every one could hear. Adelaide looked blank; she
was thinking that on Pringle she could absolutely depend. Wayne saw his
mother and Lanley bow to each other, and the next moment he had contrived
to get her out of the house.

Mathilde rushed away to her own room, and Adelaide and her father were
left alone. She turned to him with one of her rare caresses.

"Dear Papa," she said, "what a comfort you are to me! What should I do
without you? You'll never desert me, will you?" And she put her head on
his shoulder. He patted her with an