“Every day from ten to four, with an hour off for lunch.  I keep regular office hours.  Admission on presentation of visiting card.”

“And how do you feel about this Lord Wisbeach?”

“I don’t know,” said Ann frankly.  “He’s very nice.  And—­what is more important—­he’s different.  Most of the men I know are all turned out of the same mould.  Lord Wisbeach—­and one other man—­are the only two I’ve met who might not be the brothers of all the rest.”

“Who’s the other?”

“A man I hardly know.  I met him on board ship—­”

Mr. Chester looked at his watch.

“It’s up to you, Ann,” he said.  “There’s one comfort in being your father—­I don’t mean that exactly; I mean that it is a comfort to me AS your father—­to know that I need feel no paternal anxiety about you.  I don’t have to give you advice.  You’ve not only got three times the sense that I have, but you’re not the sort of girl who would take advice.  You’ve always known just what you wanted ever since you were a kid. . . .  Well, if you’re going to take me down to the boat, we’d better be starting.  Where’s the car?”

“Waiting outside.  Aren’t you going to say good-bye to aunt Nesta?”

“Good God, no!” exclaimed Mr. Chester in honest concern.  “What!  Plunge into that pack of coyotes and fight my way through to her!  I’d be torn to pieces by wild poets.  Besides, it seems silly to make a fuss saying good-bye when I’m only going to be away a short time.  I shan’t go any further than Colombia this trip.”

“You’ll be able to run back for week-ends,” said Ann.

She paused at the door to cast a fleeting glance over her shoulder at the fair-haired Lord Wisbeach, who was now in animated conversation with her aunt and Willie Partridge; then she followed her father down the stairs.  She was a little thoughtful as she took her place at the wheel of her automobile.  It was not often that her independent nature craved outside support, but she was half conscious of wishing at the present juncture that she possessed a somewhat less casual father.  She would have liked to ask him to help her decide a problem which had been vexing her for nearly three weeks now, ever since Lord Wisbeach had asked her to marry him and she had promised to give him his answer on her return from England.  She had been back in New York several days now, but she had not been able to make up her mind.  This annoyed her, for she was a girl who liked swift decisiveness of thought and action both in others and in herself.  She was fond of Mr. Chester in much the same unemotional, detached way that he was fond of her, but she was perfectly well aware of the futility of expecting counsel from him.  She said good-bye to him at the boat, fussed over his comfort for awhile in a motherly way, and then drove slowly back.  For the first time in her life she was feeling uncertain of herself.  When she had left for England, she had practically