"I won't have a prospective guest discussed," Mrs. Holt declared, with
finality. "Joshua, you remember my telling you last spring that Martha
Spence's son called on me?" she asked. "He is in business with a man
named Dallam, I believe, and making a great deal of money for a young
man. He is just a year younger than you, Robert."

"Do you mean that fat, tow-headed boy that used to come up here and eat
melons and ride my pony?" inquired Robert. "Howard Spence?"

Mrs. Holt smiled.

"He isn't fat any longer, Robert. Indeed, he's quite good-looking. Since
his mother died, I had lost trace of him. But I found a photograph of
hers when I was clearing up my desk some months ago, and sent it to him,
and he came to thank me. I forgot to tell you that I invited him for a
fortnight any time he chose, and he has just written to ask if he may
come now. I regret to say that he's on the Stock Exchange--but I was very
fond of his mother. It doesn't seem to me quite a legitimate business."

"Why!" exclaimed little Mrs. Joshua, unexpectedly, "I'm given to
understand that the Stock Exchange is quite aristocratic in these days."

"I'm afraid I am old-fashioned, my dear," said Mrs. Holt, rising. "It has
always seemed to me little better than a gambling place. Honora, if you
still wish to go to the Girls' Home, I have ordered the carriage in a
quarter of an hour."