no response, Mr. Grimston
looked round vaguely on the sombre, handsome furnishings, fixing his
gaze at last on the lithographed portrait of Mr. van Tromp senior, the
founder of the house, hanging above the mantelpiece.

"That's all, I think," Mr. Grimston repeated, raising his voice slightly
in order to drown the rumble that came through the open windows from the
rue Auber.

Suddenly Mr. van Tromp looked up.

"I've just had a letter," he said, in a tone indicating an entirely new
order of discussion, "from a person who signs herself Diana--or is it
Diane?--Eveleth."

"Oh, Diane! She's written to you, has she?" came from Mr. Grimston, as
his partner searched with short-sighted eyes for the letter in question
among the papers on the desk.

"You know her, then?"

"Of course I know her. You ought to know her, too. You would, if you
didn't shut yourself up in the office, away from the world."

"N-no, I don't recall that I've ever met the lady. Ah, here's the note,
just sit down a minute while I read it."

Mr. Grimston shot back into his seat again, while Mr. van Tromp wiped
his large, circular glasses.

"'Dear Mr. van Tromp,' she begins, 'I am most anxious to talk to you on
very important business, and would take it as a favor if you would let
me call on Tuesday morning and see you very privately. Yours sincerely,
Diane Eveleth.' That's all. Now, what do you make of it?"

The straight smile, which was all the facial expression Mr. Grimston
ever allowed himself, became visible between the lines of his closely
clipped mustache and beard. He took his time before speaking, enjoying
the knowledge that this was one of those social junctures in which he
had his senior partner so conspicuously at a disadvantage.

"It's a bad business, I'm afraid," he said, as though summing up rather
than beginning.

"What does the woman want with me?"

"That, I fear, is painfully evident. You must have heard of the Eveleth
smash a couple of months ago. Or--let me see!--I think it was just when
you were in New York. No; you'd be likely not to hear of it. The
Eveleths have so carefully cut their American acquaintance for so many
years that they've created a kind of vacuum around themselves, out of
which the noise of their doings doesn't easily penetrate. They belong to
that class of American Parisians who pose for going only into French
society."

"I know the kind."

"Mrs. Grimston could tell you all about them, of course. Equall