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Rh course he had refused her. College! Humph! As if pretty, soft, little Ada had a brain of that sort!

The proof of her last offense he now carried in his inner pocket. As he entered the room where the girls and their mother, as usual, were gathered at this time of day, he gave them no greeting.

"Hello, dad," said Beatrice, the oldest daughter. She was a ripe thirty-two or three. She was like a piece of fruit grown for an exhibition.

"Home, puppa?" inquired Mary, from her rocking-chair in the bay-window. Mary was Marcus's wife. She was a drab, docile woman. She always sat in the bay-window. She liked to watch the people pass. Moreover, it was her only opportunity of catching an occasional glimpse of the young men who paid attention to her daughters. The Belden girls never entertained in their own home. Restaurants and hotels were provided for that.

Marcus made no response to the salutations made to him. He walked over to the center-table and took out from his pocket a sheet of blue paper.

"I want to know what this means." He held out the paper. "Who's been buying books to the tune of a hundred dollars?"