Thomas amused the millionaire. Here was a young man of a species with
whom he had not come into contact in many years: a boy who did not know
the first thing about poker, or bridge, or pinochle, who played
outrageous billiards and who did not know who the latest reigning
theatrical beauty was, and moreover, did not care a rap; who could
understand a joke within reasonable time if he couldn't tell one; who
was neither a nincompoop nor a mollycoddle. Thomas interested
Killigrew more and more as the days went past.

Happily, the voice of conscience is heard by no ears but one's own.

After luncheons Thomas had a good deal of time on his hands; and, to
occupy this time he returned to his old love, composition. He began to
rewrite his romance; and one day Kitty discovered him pegging away at
it. He rose from his chair instantly.

"Will you be wanting me, Miss Killigrew?"

"Only to say that father will be detained down-town to-night and that
you will be expected to take mother and me to the theater. It is one
of your English musical comedies; and very good, they say."

Thomas had been dreading such a situation. As yet there had been no
entertaining at the Killigrew home; nearly all their friends were out
of town for the summer; thus far he had escaped.

"I am sorry, Miss Killigrew, but I have no suitable clothes." Which
was plain unvarnished truth. "And I do not possess an opera-hat." And
never did.