Arthur Carroll no longer smiled, but his voice had a certain urbanity, although it rang imperiously.  “Now, see here,” he said.  “I want to know why you did not do as I left instructions at your shop?”

“To what do you refer?” inquired Anderson, quietly.

“I want to know why you did not send in your bill last Saturday night, as I ordered.”  Carroll’s voice was so loud that Mrs. Anderson, in the house, heard him distinctly through the open windows.

“I did not know that you had so ordered,” replied Anderson, still quietly, with a slight emphasis on the ordered.  He looked slightly amused.

“Well, I did.  I told your clerk to be sure to send in my bills promptly every Saturday morning.  I wish to settle weekly.”

“The mistake was doubtless due to the fact that my clerk has been at home ill for the last three days,” said Anderson.  “This is the first time I have heard of your order.”

“Well,” said Carroll, “send it in at once now, and don’t let it happen again.”

Although the tone was harsh and the words were imperious, still they were not insolent.  There was even an effect of camaraderie about them.  At the last he flashed a quick smile at Anderson, which Anderson returned.  He was dimly conscious all the time of Charlotte’s very pretty face past her father’s, peeping around his gray shoulder with a large-eyed, rather puzzled expression.  Carroll nodded slightly after the smile, and told the coachman to go on, and the horses sprang forward after a delicate toss of their curving forelegs.

Randolph re-entered the house, and his mother, who was waiting, faced him with soft indignation.

“I must say, my son, that I am surprised that you submit to being addressed in such a fashion as that,” she said, her blue eyes darkening at him.

Randolph laughed again.  “There was no real insolence about it, after all, mother,” he replied.

“It sounded so,” said she.

“That was because you could not see his face,” said Randolph.  “He looked very amiable.”

“He was angry because he did not get his bill Saturday?” said Mrs. Anderson, interrogatively.

“Yes.  He must have given the order to Sam Riggs the day before he went home ill, I suppose.”

“He must be a very wealthy man,” said Mrs. Anderson.  “It is rather good of him to be so anxious to pay his bill every week.”

“Yes, it is a very laudable desire,” said Randolph.  “I only hope his ability may equal it.”

His mother looked at him with quick surprise.  “Why, you surely don’t think—­” she said.

“I think nothing.  The man is all right, so far as I know.  He seems a gentleman, and if he is well off he is a very desirable acquisition to Banbridge.”

“Who was that with him in the coach?” asked Mrs. Anderson.

“One of his daughters, I should judge.  I hear he has two.”

“Pretty?”