I Spy | Page 9

are at the front these days.
You don't think, Minna," with quickly suppressed nervousness, "that
Kathleen can be fond of Sinclair Spencer."
"Sinclair Spencer?" echoed Mrs. Whitney. "Why he is double her age,
and besides, Winslow, his habits are not...."
"I know," gloomily, as his wife paused. "I would certainly never give
my consent to such a marriage. But, Minna, he is forever hanging
around Kathleen and haunts this house."
"So much so that Kathleen is heartily sick of him," said Mrs. Whitney
comfortingly. "She is not the girl to really care for a man of his caliber.
After all, Winslow," unable to restrain the dig, "you are responsible for
Sinclair Spencer's intimate footing in this house...."

"Intimate footing? Nothing of the sort. Just because I employed him as
my patent attorney, you and Kathleen did not have to throw yourselves
at his head and have him sitting in your pockets."
Mrs. Whitney laughed outright. "My dear Winslow, neither Kathleen
nor I encouraged him to come here. If you are afraid," her eyes
twinkling, "that Kathleen considers his attentions seriously, I will
sound her on the subject. And this brings me back to what I was going
to say originally; you must inquire about the men Kathleen meets. She
is at the impressionable age and as apt as not to pick up an undesirable
parti."
"Why didn't Kathleen remain a schoolgirl?" fumed Whitney. "Then we
only had to engage competent nurses and look up their references and
our responsibility ended."
"Your responsibility is just beginning," said Mrs. Whitney cheerfully.
"By the way, the days are short, and Kathleen should be at home by
five o'clock at least; this is a rough neighborhood for a beautiful girl to
walk through unattended."
"My forefathers found no fault with this neighborhood," replied
Whitney stiffly. "Then it was fashionable, now it is a good respectable
business section; and if dividends continue to dwindle you may thank
your stars we are in a business section--for convenience' sake. I will not
give up this house, Minna, even to please you."
"Dear Winslow, don't excite yourself." Mrs. Whitney laid an
affectionate hand on his arm. "Remember Dr. McLane's advice ... and
dinner will be served in an hour. Please come down and get it while it
is hot," and not waiting to hear his halfhearted promise she walked
from the room and closed the door. It was some seconds before
Whitney resumed his interrupted work.
"Only a little while now," he muttered--"only a little while."
Before proceeding to her bedroom Mrs. Whitney sought the suite of
rooms which had been given to Kathleen on her coming of age two

months before. Finding the prettily decorated and furnished
sitting-room empty she walked into the adjoining bedroom and saw
Kathleen sitting at her dressing table.
"What detained you?" she asked kindly, as the girl turned on her
entrance.
"The symphony concert was not over until twenty-five minutes ago.
Won't you sit down, dear?" pulling forward a chair. "I must go on with
my dressing. My pink satin, Julie, thank you," as the French maid
appeared.
"Are you dining out tonight?" in surprise. "I thought you told me you
had no engagement for this evening."
"I hadn't, mother. This invitation was quite unexpected," explained
Kathleen, arranging her hair with care. "On my return from the concert
I found this note from Miss Kiametia Grey asking me to fill a place and
prevent thirteen at her dinner tonight."
"I see." Mrs. Whitney inspected the dainty note-paper and forceful
handwriting through her gold lorgnette. The word of Miss Kiametia
Grey was as the law of the Medes and Persians to her many friends, and
Mrs. Whitney had a high regard for the wealthy spinster who cloaked
her warm-hearted impulsiveness under an erratic and often brusque
manner. "You cannot very well refuse. Who sent you those orchids?"
pointing to a handsome bouquet lying half out of its box on the bed.
"Sinclair Spencer," briefly. "Be careful, Julie, don't muss my hair," and
discussing unimportant matters Kathleen hurried her dressing as much
as possible.
"Not knowing you were going out I told Henry he would not be needed
tonight," said Mrs. Whitney, suddenly waking up to the fact that
Kathleen was ready to go. "You had better order a herdic."
"Oh!" Kathleen gazed at her blankly. "And the dinner is at the Chevy
Chase Club."

"Pardon, madame," Julie, the maid, spoke in rapid French.
"Mademoiselle Grey telephoned to ask if mademoiselle had returned
and said that she hoped she could dine with her. Knowing madame had
no engagement this evening, I took the great liberty of telling Henry to
be here with the limousine."
"Quite right, Julie," Mrs. Whitney rose. "Don't forget your orchids,
Kathleen."
"I am not going to wear them; they"--not meeting Mrs. Whitney's
eyes--"they