llowing me
around," she began.

"Ye mean to say he follows ye?"

"You may think I'm to blame, Captain O'Leary, for not telling Mr. Bryce
of this, but Isabelle thought it would mean that her parents would keep
her indoors. She is dreadfully in disgrace with her parents," Miss
Watts said.

"Poor little crickety-Cricket," he murmured.

"You don't blame me, do you, Larry? I know it was silly, but I just
wanted to be a patriot, and to practise my French."

"Sure I don't blame ye, ye blessed baby," he laughed.

She choked a little; it was so good to be championed.

"Mr. and Mrs. Bryce have gone for a conference with these men this
morning, and we all hope they may settle it," sighed Miss Watts.

"Where is this conference?"

"At Wally's lawyer's office," said Isabelle.

"Get your hat, Cricket; we'll go say a word or two at this conference."

She looked at him inquiringly, and went for her wraps without a word.

"Oh, Captain O'Leary, we have needed you so!" exclaimed Miss Watts.

"Woman, woman, why didn't ye cable me? As it is I took the first boat."

"I know you and Isabelle want to be alone, but I'm so in disgrace now,
with Mrs. Bryce, that I dare not let her go with you, unless I go."

He frowned, then smiled.

"Of course, get your bonnet. Isabelle and I will have enough time later,
to catch up on our affairs."

So all three of them got into the Captain's taxi, and hurried to the
address which Isabelle gave the driver.

There was some little difficulty in Mr. Clifford's outer office, but
Captain O'Leary simplified it, by lifting the office boy out of the
way, bodily, opening the door and marching in, followed by the two
women.

Startled glances were lifted to this tall officer, stranger to them all,
who strode in, unannounced. The lawyer rose angrily.

"How did you get in?" he demanded.

"Walked. Present me to the Bryces, Miss Watts," he replied.

Miss Watts in a trembling voice said:

"Mrs. Bryce, this is Captain O'Leary, a friend of Isabelle's and mine
from Bermuda."

Mrs. Bryce stared--too astonished to speak. The tall, young man bowed.

"This is my father," said Isabelle. The two men shook hands.

"I object to this man's coming in here," began the editor of _Chit-Chat_.

Captain O'Leary fixed him with a stormy eye.

"We'll hear your objections later. I know all about this rotten deal. Is
this Jean Jacques Petard?"

"This is none of your business," began Clifford, but he never finished