Bagley.
A look of displeasure marked Florence's answer. "Tell him my father is
not here--is spending the evening with Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence."
"Mr. Bagley!--he _must_ be devoted, to call on such a night!" remarked
Edna, when the servant had gone.
"He calls at all sorts of times. And his invitations--he's forever
wanting us to go to the theatre--or on his automobile--or to dine at
Delmonico's--or to a skating-rink, or somewhere. Refusals don't
discourage him. You'd think he was a philanthropist, determined to give
us some of the pleasures of life. The worst of it is, father sometimes
accepts--for himself."
Another knock at the door, and the servant appeared again. The gentleman
wished to know if he might come in and leave a message with Miss Kenby
for her father.
"Very well," she sighed. "Show him in." "If he threatens to stay two
minutes, I'll see what I can do to make it chilly," volunteered Edna.
Mr. Bagley entered, red-faced from the weather, but undaunted and
undauntable, and with the unconscious air of conferring a favor on Miss
Kenby by his coming, despite his manifest admiration. Edna he took
somewhat aback by barely noticing at all.
He sat down without invitation, expressed himself in his brassy voice
about the weather, and then, instead of confiding a message, showed a
mind for general conversation by asking Miss Kenby if she had read an
evening paper.
She had not.
"I see that Count What's-his-name's wedding came off all the same, in
spite of the blizzard," said Mr.
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