“And how is Mrs. Chandler?”

Chandler’s face lit up as he received the letter back.

“Oh, much better, thank you, Mrs. Farron—­out of all danger.”

Wayne saw, what Chandler did not, that Adelaide had never even heard of Mrs. Chandler’s ill health; but she murmured as she turned away: 

“I’m so glad.  You must have been very anxious.”

When they were gone, Wayne and Chandler were left a minute alone.

“What a personality!” Chandler exclaimed.  “Imagine her remembering my troubles, when you think what she has had to worry about!  A remarkable couple, Mr. Wayne.  I have been up to the house a number of times since Mr. Farron’s illness, and she is always there, so brave, so attentive.  A queenly woman, and,” he added, as if the two did not always go together, “a good wife.”

Wayne could think of no answer to this eulogy, and as they stood in silence the office door opened and Mr. Lanley came in.  He nodded to each of the two, and moved to Vincent’s room.

“Mr. Farron has just gone,” said Chandler, firmly.  He could not bear to have people running in and out of Farron’s room.

“Gone?” said Lanley, as if it were somebody’s fault.

“Mrs. Farron came down for him in the motor.  He appeared to stand his first day very well.”

Mr. Lanley glanced quickly from one to the other.  This did not sound as if any final break had occurred between the Farrons, yet on this subject he could hardly question his son-in-law’s secretaries.  He made one further effort.

“I suppose Mr. Farron thought he was good for a whole day’s work.”

Chandler smiled.

“Mr. Farron, like all wise men, sir, does what his wife tells him.”  And then, as he loved his own work far more than conversation, Chandler hurried back to his desk.

“I understand,” said Lanley to Wayne, “that you are here regularly now.”

“Yes.”

“Like your work?” Lanley was obviously delaying, hoping that some information would turn up unexpectedly.

“Very much.”

“Humph!  What does your mother think about it?”

“About my new job?” Wayne smiled.  “You know those aren’t the kind of facts—­jobs and salaries—­that my mother scrutinizes very closely.”

Lanley stared at him with brows slightly contracted.

“What does she scrutinize?” he asked.

“Oh, motives—­spiritual things.”

“I see.”  Mr. Lanley couldn’t go a step further, couldn’t take this young man into his confidence an inch further.  He stuck his stick into his overcoat-pocket so that it stood upright, and wheeled sharply.

“Good-by,” he said, and added at the door, “I suppose you think this makes a difference in your prospects.”

“Mrs. Farron has asked me to come to dinner to-night.”

Lanley wheeled back again.

“What?” he said.

“Yes, she almost urged me, though I didn’t need urging.”