“Isn’t he jolly to-night?” laughed Fanny.

“Got ’em again,” chuckled Jim in an undertone.

Virginia alone was not amused.  Her face turned deathly pale.  He had broken his word again.  She looked at him, and shuddered.  She saw his eyes seek her out and she read there the same expression which had always frightened her and which when he was in that condition meant only one thing.  She could not go on living like this.  It was unbearable, more than she could endure.  It was too humiliating, too degrading.  As she stood watching him he advanced clumsily towards her.  Involuntarily she recoiled, but, in a stride, he was beside her and placed one arm round her waist.  Kissing her, he hiccoughed: 

“Hello, honey!” With maudlin admiration he exclaimed:  “My, but you look sweet to-night!”

Disgusted, nauseated, Virginia turned her head away from his tainted breath, and tried to disengage herself.  But he held her as in a vice.  Turning to Jimmie, he said jocularly: 

“Do you—­wonder that—­I’m in love with her?”

“I should say not,” grinned the clerk.

“She’s the prettiest and sweetest girl that ever lived,” went on Stafford.  He still had one arm round his wife’s waist and, struggling to place his mouth on hers, he insisted:  “Kiss me, honey!”

In vain Virginia strove to free herself.  She was but a child in his strong arms.

“Robert—­Robert—­please!” she protested angrily.

He laughed boisterously.

“Oh—­go on—­you know you love me!  Kiss me!”

Reluctantly, realizing it was her only way of escape, she touched his cheek with her cold lips.

“That’s the girl!” he exclaimed, releasing her.

Deathly white and with a set, determined expression on her face, Virginia broke from his embrace and hurried away to join her sister who, dreading a scene, had discreetly withdrawn into the bedroom.  Stafford stood looking after her, a stupid expression on his face as if of mild surprise at her resistance.  When she had disappeared, he turned to his employee.  For a few moments he did not speak and the younger man was beginning to feel uncomfortable under his close scrutiny when Stafford suddenly blurted out: 

“Jimmie!”

“Yes.”

“What salary are you getting?”

“A hundred—­”

Stafford shook his head.  Smiling, he said: 

“No, you’re not—­you’re getting a hundred and fifty!”

The clerk stared at his employer, not comprehending.  What did he mean?  Was this the long expected and hoped for raise in his salary, or was he the victim of a drunken jest?”

“I’m only getting a hundred,” he stammered.

Stafford nodded encouragingly.  Amiably he said: 

“Now you’re getting a hundred and fifty—­”

The clerk’s face broadened into a grin.  At last his ability was receiving tardy acknowledgment.  Hadn’t he told Fanny months ago that he was worth the money?  Well, better late than never!  He was about to express his thanks when the millionaire interrupted him with a careless gesture.