a lovely set
from me. It was the most expensive set I ever sold--forty-five hundred
dollars."

"Forty-five hundred dollars for a set of books!" exclaimed Viola, in
unaffected wonder.

"Oh, my dear, that is nothing. These were some books," and she winked
understandingly.

"It isn't everybody who could get them! The edition was limited. But I
happened on a set and I knew your father wanted them, so I got them
for him. He made the first payment, and then he died--I read it in the
papers. Naturally I didn't want to bother you while the terrible affair
was so fresh, so I waited. And now I'm here!"

She seemed to be--very much so, as she settled herself back in the big
leather chair, and made sure that her hair was properly fluffed around
her much-powdered face.

"You are here to--" faltered Viola. "To get the balance for the
books--that's it, dear Miss Carwell. Naturally I'm not in for my health,
and of course I don't publish books myself. I'm only a poor business
woman, and I work on commission. The firm likes have all contracts
cleaned up, but in this case they didn't press matters, knowing Mr.
Carwell was all right; or, if he wasn't, his estate was. I've sold him
many a choice and rare book--books you don't see in every library, my
dear. Of course there were--ahem--some you wouldn't care to read, and
I can't say I care much about 'em myself. A good French novel is all
right, I say, but some of 'em well, you know!" and she winked boldly,
and dabbed her face with the handkerchief which was quickly filling the
room with an overpowering odor.

"You mean my father owes you money?" faltered Viola.

"Well, not me, exactly--the firm. But I don't mind telling you I get my
rake-off. I have to so I can live. The balance is only three thousand
dollars, and if you could give me a check--"

"Excuse me," interrupted Viola, "but I have nothing to do with the
business end of my father's affairs."

"You're his daughter, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"And you'll get all his property?" Morocco Kate was getting vindictive
now.

"I cannot discuss that with you," said Viola, simply. "All matters
of business are attended to at the office. You will have to see Mr.
Blossom."

"Huh! LeGrand Blossom! No use seeing him. I've tried. But I'll try
again, and say you sent me." The voice was back to its original dulcet
tones now. "That's what I'll do, my dear Miss Carwell. I'll tell LeGrand
Blossom you sent me. He needn't think he can play fas