his father echoed sharply. "You--"

"Now, Wint--don't aggravate your father," Mrs. Chase urged. "You will drive me to--"

"Hetty, pass my son's plate," directed the elder Chase, discovering the girl in the doorway. "Your place is in the kitchen while the meals are being served, not in the hall."“All right,” said Hetty cheerfully, and she took Wint’s plate and went around the table to his father’s side. Thus relieved of the elder Chase’s scrutiny, she winked lightly at Wint and smiled. He made no response. A moment later, she set his plate before him, and departed toward the kitchen. Mrs. Chase began at once to talk. Her eating did not seem to interfere with the gently querulous stream of her conversation. She spoke of many things. Housekeeping cares, the perplexities and annoyances of the day, the acquisition of Hetty, her hope that Hetty would prove a good girl, a good cook, a good housemaid. “She’s not going to go home at night, either,” she explained. “When girls go home at night, they’re never here in time to get breakfast. When I have a girl, I want her in the house, so’s I can see she gets up. She--” The elder Chase interrupted obliviously. He had been studying his son. “Wint, have you been drinking to-day?” he demanded. Wint looked up quickly, a retort on his lips. But he checked it, and instead said quietly: “No.” “Oh, Wint,” Mrs. Chase exclaimed, “you ain’t going to do any more of that, are you, son? You--” “I’m keeping my eye on you, young man,” interrupted her husband. “You left the office early to-day. Who gave you permission?” “The work was done.” “The work is never done.” “You left before I did.” The elder Chase’s eyes flashed. “My movements have nothing to do with it. Your place is at the office till four-thirty every day. Don’t imagine, because you’re my son, you’ll receive any favoritism.” “It seems to work the other way,” said Wint. “It does work the other way. You’re on trial, guilty till proved innocent, worthless till proved otherwise. Some fathers.... A boy expelled from college for drunkenness.... You’re lucky that I am so lenient with you, young man.” “Am I?” “Now, Wint,” his mother interjected. “Don’t you aggravate your father. Goodness knows it’s hard enough to get along with him--” “Margaret!” “Well, I mean, you oughtn’t to--” Wint rose abruptly. “Nagging never did any good,” he said. “I mean to--do my part.” He flamed suddenly. “But--for Heaven’s sake--don’t talk me to death.” He went out, up to his room. He was trembling with humiliated resentment. In his room he stood for a moment before the mirror, looking at his image in the glass, frowning sullenly. “Talk! Talk! Talk!” he exclaimed hotly. “Always talk!” He went into the bathroom, 

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