“Oh, you college men!” he said.  “I’m afraid I’m not up to your subtleties.  When you said it was the richest vein and favorably situated, I supposed that was what you meant.  If you meant just the opposite, well, let it go.  Honaton & Benson certainly don’t want to get out a report contrary to fact.”

“That’s what he has accused us of,” said Honaton.

“Oh, no, no,” said Benson; “don’t be too literal, Jack.  In the heat of argument we all say things we don’t mean.  Pete here doesn’t like to have his lovely English all messed up by a practical dub like me.  I doubt if he wants to sever his connection with this firm.”

Honaton yielded.

“Oh,” he said, “I’m willing enough he should stay, if—­”

“Well, I’m not,” said Pete, and put an end to the conversation by walking out of the room.  He found David explaining the filing system to Mathilde, and she, hanging on his every word, partly on account of his native charm, partly on account of her own interest in anything neat, but most because she imagined the knowledge might some day make her a more serviceable wife to Pete.

Pete dreaded the coming interview with Mrs. Farron more than that with the firm—­more, indeed, than he had ever dreaded anything.  He and Mathilde reached the house about a quarter before one, and Adelaide was not in.  This was fortunate, for while they waited they discovered a difference of intention.  Mathilde saw no reason for mentioning the fact that they had actually been on the point of taking out their marriage license.  She thought it was enough to tell her mother that the trip had been abandoned and that Pete had given up his job.  Pete contemplated nothing less than the whole truth.

“You can’t tell people half a story,” he said.  “It never works.”

Mathilde really quailed.

“It will be terrible to tell mama that,” she groaned.  “She thinks failure is worse than crime.”

“And she’s dead right,” said Pete.

When Adelaide came in she had Mr. Lanley with her.  She had seen him walking down Fifth Avenue with his hat at quite an outrageous angle, and she had ordered the motor to stop, and had beckoned him to her.  It was two days since her interview with Mrs. Baxter, and she had had no good opportunity of speaking to him.  The suspicion that he was avoiding her nerved her hand; but there was no hint of discipline in her smile, and she knew as well as if he had said it that he was thinking as he came to the side of the car how handsome and how creditable a daughter she was.  “Come to lunch with me,” she said; “or must you go home to your guest?”

“No, I was going to the club.  She’s lunching with a mysterious relation near Columbia University.”

“Don’t you know who it is?  Tell him home.”

“Home, Andrews.  No, she never says.”

“Don’t put your stick against the glass, there’s an angel.  I’ll tell you who it is.  An elder sister who supported and educated her, of whom she’s ashamed now.”