account of his so-called habits. She—"
"Well, it's turned out for the best, hasn't it? Isn't a prince better than a duke?"
"You've said all that before, Will. I wanted her to run down with me this morning to talk the ball over with Mrs. King, and what do you think happened?"
"She wouldn't go?"
"Worse than that. She wouldn't let me go. Now, things are coming to a pretty pass when—"
"Never mind. I'll talk to her," said Mr. Blithers, somewhat bleakly despite his confident front. "She loves her old dad. I can do anything with her."
"She's on a frightfully high horse lately," sighed Mrs. Blithers fretfully. "It—it can't be that young Scoville, can it?"
"If I thought it was, I'd—I'd—" There is no telling what Mr. Blithers would have done to young Scoville, at the moment, for he couldn't think of anything dire enough to inflict upon the suspected meddler.
"In any event, it's dreadfully upsetting to me, Will. She—she won't listen to anything. And here's something else: She declares she won't stay here for the ball on Friday night."
Mr. Blithers had her repeat it, and then almost missed the chair in sitting down, he was so precipitous about it.
"Won't stay for her own ball?" he bellowed.
"She says it isn't her ball," lamented his wife.
"If it isn't hers, in the name of God whose is it?"
"Ask her, not me," flared Mrs. Blithers. "And don't glare at me like that. I've had nothing but glares since you went away. I thought I was doing the very nicest thing in the world when I suggested the ball. It would bring them together—"
"The only two it will actually bring together, it seems, are those damned prize-fighters. They'll get together all right, but what good is it going to do us, if Maud's going to act like this? See here, Lou, I've got things fixed so that the Prince of Groostuck can't very well do anything but ask Maud to—"
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