At Love's Cost

She yawned behind her beringed hand.

"I am tired. I can't face that stuffy carriage again just yet. Let us

dine here and go on afterwards in the cool."

"Oh, just as you like," he said. "It makes no difference to me!"

"I know," she assented. Then, in an indolently casual way, she asked: "Who was that gentleman who rode by just now?"

Her father glanced at her suspiciously as he took off his overcoat.

"Now, how on earth should I know, my dear Maude!" he replied, with a

short, harsh laugh. "Some young farmer or cattle dealer, I imagine."

"I said _gentleman_," she retorted, with something approaching

insolence. "You will permit _me_ to know the difference."

Her father coloured angrily, as if she had stung him.

"You'd better go upstairs and take off your things while I order

dinner," he said.