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 "Of course," apologized Lida, "Now I have him. He knew Lincoln."

Upon the signal of his father's step, Jay plucked the cigarette from his wife's lips and put it between his own; after his father caught sight of them, he snapped it into the fireplace.

"This is Lida, father," he said; and under the look in his father's eyes, his pulses leaped. Lida spoke quickly, but John Rountree deliberately studied her.

"I have been expecting you," he replied, "you both."

"We'd have been earlier," offered Lida coolly, "but I dressed for the opera; when we gave it up, I changed back."

John turned toward the drawing-room, motioning to them to precede him. Lida went ahead but Jay delayed, watching his father, whose eyes followed her, estimating* her. Even in her sleeved dress, she contrasted with any wife or daughter of John Rountree's friends entertained in these rooms. Of course, girls of Jay's acquaintance never frequented the house. John glanced at Jay, who held breath briefly.

"Go in with your wife," John said and Jay drew toward her, with an idea of defending her; but Lida was more than equal to the requirements of the moment.

"How had you planned on the opera for to-night?" John asked her.

"The Mettens invited us; they bought a box for us to-day," explained Lida.

"To-day," repeated John and betrayed to his son the momentary flight of his mind to his day of vain waiting for a hint of the disposition of the half million dollar busi-