, I think, quails and some Clicquot for you, my
dear. You need it. Ah, this is a happiness indeed!"

"You know Mr. Tavernake, father," she remarked, after he had given a
somewhat lengthy order to the waiter.

"I met and talked with Mr. Tavernake here the other night," the
professor admitted, with condescension.

"Mr. Tavernake was very good to me at a time when I needed help,"
Beatrice told him.

The professor grasped Tavernake's hands.

"You were good to my child," he said, "you were good to me. Waiter,
three cocktails immediately," he ordered, turning round. "I must drink
your health, Mr. Tavernake--I must drink your health at once."

Tavernake leaned forward towards Beatrice.

"I wonder," he suggested, "whether you would not rather be alone with
your father."

She shook her head.

"You know so much," she replied, "and it really doesn't seem to matter.
Tell me, father, how do you spend your time?"

"I must confess, dear," the professor said, "that I have little to do.
Your sister Elizabeth is quite generous."

Beatrice sat back in her chair as though she had been struck.

"Father," she exclaimed, "listen! You are living on that money! Doesn't
it seem terrible to you? Oh, how can you do it!"

The professor looked at his daughter with an expression of pained
surprise.

"My dear," he explained, "your sister Elizabeth has always been the
moneyed one of the family. She has brains and I trust her. It is not for
me to inquire as to the source of the comforts she provides for me. I
feel myself entitled to receive them, and so I accept."

"But, father," she went on, "can't you see--don't you know that it's his
money--Wenham's?"

"It is not a matter, this, my child," the professor observed, sharply,
"which we can discuss before strangers. Some day we will speak of it,
you and I."

"Has he--been heard of?" she asked, in a whisper.

The professor frowned.

"A hot-tempered young man, my dear," he declared uneasily, "a hot
tempered young man, indeed. Elizabeth gives me to understand that it was
just an ordinary quarrel and away he went."

Beatrice was white to the lips.

"An ordinary quarrel!" she muttered.

She sat quite still. Tavernake unconsciously found himself watching her.
There were things in her eyes which frightened him. It seemed as though
she were looking out of the gay little restaurant, with its lights and
music and air of comfort, out into some distant quarter of the world,
some other an