on if you will be kind enough
to see them. And, Miss--" He paused. He had exceeded his duty.

"What is it, Frederick?" asked Grace, knowing that the imperturbable
cockney was perturbed.

"There is quite a crowd outside. They are photographing the ladies,
ma'am."

"What ladies?"

"Begging your pardon, Miss Vandergilt and the others, ma'am."

"Where?"

"Just in front of the door. Mr. Goodchild had some trouble in getting
in, ma'am. He's quite vexed about it, but it wasn't my fault, ma'am," he
said, forgetting that he was a menial; that is, protesting against
injustice. "I couldn't help it, ma'am."

"Very well, Frederick," she said, graciously, and descended.

Five reporters were politely listening to Mr. Goodchild's vituperations.
Therefore his daughter walked down the stairs as majesty descends from
the dais. One of the reporters started to meet her half-way.

"Hey! confound you, come down!" shrieked papa.

"Miss Goodchild, we wished to ask you if you had been chosen as the
first of the perfectly beautiful hundred. Now that we have seen you at
close range, the question is unnecessary."

She smiled slightly; then ceased to smile. The intelligent young man
proceeded courteously: "Will you therefore kindly tell us when the
wedding will be?"

All reporters are psychologists in their interrogations. The other
reporters ceased listening to Mr. Goodchild and as politely as the
circumstances permitted took out paper and pencils.

When an angry man is suddenly deprived of his audience he becomes a
mental assassin.

Mr. Goodchild blamed it on H. R.

"She'll never marry that infernal idiot!" he shrieked. He was the head
of the house.

"Ah yes," said the diplomatist on the stair, looking as though he had
memorized the exact words. "Ah yes! June! Thank you." He nodded
gratefully at Mr. Goodchild, jotted down a date, and put the paper in
his pocket.

"Congratulations, Miss Goodchild," he said to her, with profound
respect, and descended. In the hall he said to his colleagues: "Come on,
boys. We've got the month. She _is_ Number One, and--"

"If you dare to print anything I'll have you fired," fumed Mr.
Goodchild.

"If you were a younger man I'd tell you to fire your grandmother, sir.
But I fear me she is, alas! no more. In the mean time, Mr. Goodchild,
will you be good enough to pose for our artist? Look pleasant, please.
You'll have to close your mouth to do it. Wilson, you may begin filming
when ready!" he