be someone present with whom he could exchange a word. As B. Phelps did not care for Chapters and "At Homes" any more than he did, there was that bond between them.
Mr. Hungerford was, for a wonder, not in when the callers came. He went out very little nowadays, except when Miss Dott and her mother went; then he was always ready to go.
Annette declared that the Canby "At Home" was certain to be a most unusual affair. "So--er--well, so different," she explained. "Miss Canby is a very unusual woman, a unique woman, and her affairs are always as unique as she is. So truly Bohemian. I adore Bohemians, don't you, Gertrude?"
Gertrude said she did. "I don't know that I've met a great many," she added, "but I'm sure they must be very enjoyable."
"Oh, they are! And Miss Canby is one. The very first time I attended a gathering at her home I said to myself: 'THIS is true Bohemianism.'"
Captain Dan was astonished.
"Why!" he exclaimed, "Miss Canby's folks came from Down-East somewheres--Bangor, Maine, I think 'twas. She told me so, herself."
The remark was received in various ways, by various individuals. Serena frowned; Gertrude bit her lip; B. Phelps Black burst into a roar of laughter.
"I did not mean my statement literally, Captain Dott," explained Annette in gracious toleration. "But when people are independent and free from the usual conventionalities, as Miss Canby is, we speak of them as Bohemians. It is an--er--a term among artists and musicians, I believe."
Daniel understood little or nothing of this. He understood perfectly well, however, that he had blundered somehow, a glance at his wife's face told him that. Gertrude smiled at him kindly and observed: "Father is like myself, his acquaintance in Bohemia has been limited."
Captain Dan muttered that he guessed likely that was so, adding that he had an Armenian steward once who was a pretty good fellow. Then he subsided. Serena took up the conversation, changing the subject to the ever fruitful one of her beloved Chapter. In a moment the two ladies were deep in a discussion concerning the election of National officers for the Legion, an election which was to take place in Boston a few months later. Gertrude joined in the discussion, a proceeding which her father noticed with apprehension.
Mr. Black accepted an invitation to smoke, and he and Captain Dan went into the library. After the cigars were lighted, B. Phelps, lowering his voice so as not to be heard in the adjoining room, said suddenly:
"Dan, is that daughter of yours going off her head like the rest of the females?"
Daniel was indignant.
"Off her head!" he repeated. "Gertie! She's as smart and sensible a girl as ever lived. I say so, even if she is my daughter. What are you talkin' about?"
Mr. Black waved his hand. "Keep your hair on, Dan," he counselled pleasantly. "I like Gertrude, always have. I always thought she was as sensible as she is pretty, and that's saying something. But what has got into her since she got here in Scarford? You used to tell me she didn't care anything for society and all the rest of it; now she seems to be as daffy as her--well, as my wife, if you like that better."
"Daffy! See here, Barney Black, I--"
"Hush! Don't begin to yell or we'll have that hen convention in the parlor down on us. I'm not finding any fault with your daughter. I'm only talking for her good and yours. What does she care about this confounded Chapter foolishness?"
"She don't care nothin' about it."
"Doesn't she? She seems to be mighty interested in that talk they're having in there now. And she was as joyful as the rest of 'em over this Canby woman's 'At Home.'"
The captain was quite aware of the apparent joy; and Gertrude's growing interest in her mother's Chapter and its members was too obvious to be denied. Nevertheless, he tried to deny it.
"Oh, that's nothin'," he declared. "She and Serena have always been plannin' together over things, and this Chapter's like the rest, that's all. As for the 'At Home,' why--why--well, Gertie's young, and young folks generally like a good time."
"A good time! Great Scott! Have you ever been to that Canby apartment and seen the crowd that--No, of course you haven't. Dan, if my wife heard me she'd take my head off, but you're an old friend of mine and I like your daughter. Listen to me: Don't let Gertrude go to that 'At Home' if you can help it."
"Don't let her! How am I goin' to help it?"
"I don't know. Keep her in the house. Lock the door and hide the key. I would. If she was my daughter I'd--I'd chloroform her. Hanged if I wouldn't!"
Captain Dan's indignation was rapidly changing to alarm.
"See here, Barney," he demanded, "what are you tryin' to say, anyhow? What's wrong with this Miss Canby? Out with it."
"Nothing's wrong with her, so far as I know. And yet there isn't anything right. She's good enough, I guess, and she can play the piano like a streak, but she's a fool. She and the gang she is with are bleached-haired, frowzy-headed idiots, who hope they are Bohemians--whatever that is. They like to do what they call unusual things; they like to shock people--think it's smart. Don't let your wife or Gertrude--Gertie, especially--get in with that crowd. They don't belong there. And there's something else."
He hesitated. Daniel, trembling with anxiety, urged him to continue.
"What is it?" he begged. "What is the somethin' else?"
"Oh, nothing. It isn't my business anyhow. I ought to keep still."
"Keep still! After sayin' as much as you have? You go ahead or I'll shake it out of you one word at a time. Heave ahead now! I'm waitin'."
"Well, then, don't get mad. Remember I'm saying it merely as a friend. Is Gertie engaged to be married?"
"Sartin she is. To a fine fellow, too. What of it?"
"Why, this: If she is engaged why is she trotting about with this precious cousin of yours--this Percy Hungerford?"
Captain Dan started violently. He had asked himself that very question many times during the week which had just passed. To have someone else ask it, however, was too much. He bristled up like an angry cat.
"By Godfreys!" he sputtered, "what do you mean? Do you mean to hint--"
"I'm not hinting anything. Be quiet, or I'll stop right here. What do you know about Hungerford, anyway? Why is he here at your house?"
"Here! Why--why, he's here 'cause we asked him to stay. He's on his vacation and he's just makin' us a visit. As to knowin' anything about him, what do you mean by that? Do YOU know anything about him?"
"Not much. Neither does anyone else; that's the queer part of it. While old lady Dott--your Aunt Lavinia--occupied this house, he was here a good deal. He didn't do anything then, except to be a general high-flyer around town with a few chums like Monty Holway, who is another gay young bird with money. After Mrs. Dott went abroad to live, he left Scarford and went to Providence a while; after that to Boston and New York, and various places. He had the reputation of being something of a sport, and in with a fast set. Now, all at once, he comes back here and settles down on--with you and your wife. What did he do that for?"
"I--I don't know. He didn't intend to settle. Says he didn't, anyway. As for bein' a sport--well, he's told us about that, told Serena the whole yarn. He owned up that he never took life very seriously while Aunt Laviny lived; had plenty of money and didn't have to. But now it's different. He's realized that he must work, same as other folks, and he's doin' it. He works for some magazine or other, doin' what he calls literary work."
"Humph! What magazine is it?"
"I don't know. I never asked."
"Well,