“I have been walking,” said he, “and thinking.  It is dreadful hot work to think.  That should be done only in winter weather.”

“It would be a woeful thing to take a cold on the mind,” said Olive.

“That is so!” he replied.  “That is exactly what I am afraid of this morning, and that is the reason I want to propose my amendment.  I beg most earnestly that you will not make this interview definitive.  I am afraid if you do I may get chills in my mind, soul, and heart from which I shall never recover.  I have an idea that the weather may not be as favorable as it was yesterday for the unveiling of tender emotions.”

“Why so?” asked Olive.

“There are several reasons,” returned Mr. Locker.  “For one thing, that musical uproar last night.  I have not heard anything about that, and I don’t know where I stand.”

Olive laughed.  “It was splendid,” said she.  “I liked you a great deal better after that than I did before.”

“Now tell me,” he exclaimed hurriedly, “and please lose no time, for here comes a surrey from the station with a gentleman in it—­do you like me enough better to give me a favorable answer, now, right here?”

“No,” said Olive.  “I do not feel warranted in being so precipitate as that.”

“Then please say nothing on the subject,” said Locker.  “Please let us drop the whole matter for to-day.  And may I assume that I am at liberty to take it up again to-morrow at this hour?”

“You may,” said Olive.  “What gentleman is that, do you suppose?”

“I know him,” said Locker, “and, fortunately, he is married.  He is Mr. Easterfield.”

“Here’s papa!  Here’s papa!” shouted the two little girls as they ran out of the front door.

“And papa,” said the oldest one, “we want you to tell us a story just as soon as you have brushed your hair!  Mr. Rupert has been telling us stories, but yours are a great deal better.”

“Yes,” said the other little girl, “he makes all the children too good.  They can’t be good, you know, and there’s no use trying.  We told him so, but he doesn’t mind.”

There was story-telling after luncheon, but the papa did not tell them, and the children were sent away.  It was Mrs. Easterfield who told the stories, and Mr. Tom was a most interested listener.

“Well,” said he, when she had finished, “this seems to be a somewhat tangled state of affairs.”

“It certainly is,” she replied, “and I tangled them.”

“And you expect me to straighten them?” he asked.

“Of course I do,” she replied, “and I expect you to begin by sending Mr. Hemphill away.  You know I could not do it, but I should think it would be easy for you.”

“Would you object if I lighted a cigar?” he asked.

“Of course not,” she said.  “Did you ever hear me object to anything of the kind?”

“No,” said he, “but I never have smoked in this room, and I thought perhaps Miss Raleigh might object when she came in to do your writing.”