“I want you to know him—­very soon.”  There was a moment’s silence.  “I’m going to marry him, dad,” she said.  And Roger looked at her blankly.  He felt his limbs beginning to tremble.  “I’ve been waiting to tell you when we were alone,” she added in an awkward tone.  And still staring up at her he felt a rush of tenderness and a pang of deep remorse.  Laura in love and settled for life!  And what did he know of the affair?  What had he ever done for her?  Too late!  He had begun too late!  And this rush of emotion was so overpowering that while he still looked at her blindly she was the first to recover her poise.  She came around the table and kissed him softly on the cheek.  And now more than ever Roger felt how old his daughter thought him.

“Who is he?” he asked hoarsely.  And she answered smiling,

“A perfectly nice young man named Sloane.”

“Don’t, Laura—­tell me!  What does he do?”

“He’s in a broker’s office—­junior member of the firm, Oh, you needn’t worry, dear, he can even afford to marry me.”

They heard a ring at the front door.

“There he is now, I think,” she said.  “Will you see him?  Would you mind?”

“See him?  No!” her father cried.

“But just to shake hands,” she insisted.  “You needn’t talk or say a word.  We’ve only a moment, anyway.”  And she went swiftly out of the room.

Roger rose in a panic and strode up and down.  Before he could recover himself she was back with her man, or rather her boy—­for the fellow, to her father’s eyes, looked ridiculously young.  Straight as an arrow, slender, his dress suit irreproachable, the chap nevertheless was more than a dandy.  He looked hard, as though he trained, and his smooth and ruddy face had a look of shrewd self-reliance.  So much of him Roger fathomed in the indignant cornered glance with which he welcomed him into the room.

“Why, good evening, Mr. Gale—­glad to see you again, sir!” Young Sloane nervously held out his hand.  Roger took it and muttered something.  For several moments, his mind in a whirl, he heard their talk and laughter and his own voice joining in.  Laura seemed enjoying herself, her eyes brimming with amusement over both her victims.  But at last she had compassion, kissed her father gaily and took her suitor out of the room.

Soon Roger heard them leave the house.  He went into his study, savagely bit off a cigar and gripped his evening paper as though he meant to choke it.  The maid came in with coffee.  “Coffee?  No!” he snapped at her.  A few moments later he came to his senses and found himself smoking fast and hard.  He heartily damned this fellow Sloane for breaking into the family and asking poor Laura to risk her whole life—­just for his own selfish pleasure, his whim!  Yes, “whim” was the very word for it!  Laura’s attitude, too!  Did she look at it seriously?  Not at all!  Quite plainly she saw her career as one long Highland fling and dance, with this Harry boy as her partner!  Who had he danced with in his past?  The fellow’s past must be gone into, and at once, without delay!