dead for sixteen years, Bosworth."

Bosworth opened his eyes.

"Yes, sir," he said, trying to guess what was coming.

"She was a noble woman, my boy. I—I shall never forget her."

"I loved her," said Bosworth, vaguely.

"I have always said that a man shouldn't marry a second time," proceeded Mr. Van Pycke. Bosworth sniffed. Mr. Van Pycke went on: "That is, until his first wife has been—er—at rest for fifteen years or more. It's only decent."

"I see," said Bosworth, comprehending.

"You do?" demanded his father, a bit upset.

"Who is she, dad?"

Mr. Van Pycke's chin was so far down in the baby lamb that his reply was barely audible. "I hope to be able to tell you in the morning—perhaps late this evening, my son."

The young man was smiling in his corner of the cab. "Are you quite sure you love her, dad?" he asked, without guile.

Mr. Van Pycke coughed.

"Perhaps you'd better wait till morning to tell me that, too," said his son, coming to the rescue.

CHAPTER II

A YOUNG LADY ENTERS

Mr. Van Pycke got down in front of the Purdwell mansion. It must be admitted that he almost funked when he opened the door of the cab and let in a gust of wind and snow that almost took his breath away. But he steeled himself and slipped out into the seething blizzard. He blinked around in all directions as the taxicab chortled off into the white whirlwind. So dense was the flying snow that he could scarcely see the houses on the inner side of the pavement; he was nearly a minute in getting his bearings. Then he shuffled off through the great drifts on the walk, pointed toward a fashionable apartment building whose lights glimmered fantastically against the whistling, shifting screen.

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