They heard the hall door open.

“It’s Vona,” announced Mrs. Harnden.  She beamed on Britt.  “I wonder why the dear girl is coming home so early.”

The caller’s face lighted up with the effect of an arc lamp going into action.

But when the sitting-room door opened and Vona escorted Vaniman in ahead of her, Britt’s illuminated expression instantly became the red glare of rage instead of the white light of hope.  He leaped to his feet.

The situation made for embarrassment of overwhelming intensity; there was no detail of the affair in front of Usial’s cot that had not been canvassed by every mouth in Egypt, including the mouths of the Harnden home.

Vaniman made the first move.  He bowed to Mrs. Harnden; he knew the mother; she had called on Vona in the bank.  “May I meet your father?” he asked the girl.

Vona presented him, recovering her composure by the aid of Frank’s steadiness.

“How-de-do!” said Mr. Harnden, stiffly.  He did not ask the caller to be seated.  Vona gave the invitation.  While Vaniman hesitated, the master of the household had a word to say, putting on his best business air.  “Ordinarily, young man, the latchstring of my home is out and the boys and the girls are welcome here to make merry in a sociable way.”  Mr. Harnden was distinctly patronizing, with an air that put Frank into the intruding-urchin class.  “But it so happens that this evening Banker Britt has seized the opportunity of my being in town and he and I are in close conference regarding an important matter in the investment line.  You’ll excuse us, I’m sure.”

It was certainly no moment to go tilting in the field of Love, and Frank, though undaunted, was deferential; and he was compelled to recognize the father’s rights as master of the household.  He bowed and turned to leave, carefully keeping his eyes off Britt.

But Vona had her word to say then; her foot was on the hearth of home; she had that advantage over Frank.  Moreover, she was moved by the instinct of self-protection; she did not relish the notion of being left alone with that trio.

“We can kindle a fire in the front room, father!”

“There hasn’t been a fire in that room all winter, dear girl.”  Mrs. Harnden’s protest was sweetly firm.  “No one shall run the chance of catching a cold.”

“Exactly!  It’s tricky weather, and we must be careful of our guests,” agreed Mr. Harnden.  “Call again, young sir!”

“I will,” stated Vaniman.  He turned and addressed Vona.  “The little matter will take no harm if it’s postponed till to-morrow,” he told her.  His gaze was tender—­and the girl looked up at him with an expression which even a careless observer would have found telltale.  Britt’s vision was sharpened by such jealous venom that he would have misconstrued even innocent familiarity.  He had been struggling with his passion ever since Vaniman had appeared, escorting the girl