uick enough to catch the look in her
face, the curl of her lips, the almost wicked flash of her eyes. Yet
in a moment she was laughing.

"Your cheque book, Mr. Weatherley," he remarked, laying it down upon
the desk.

Mr. Weatherley barely thanked him--barely, indeed, seemed to realize
Arnold's presence. The latter turned to go. Fenella, however,
intervened.

"Don't go away, if you please, Mr. Chetwode," she begged. "My
husband is angry with me and I am a little frightened. And all
because I have asked him to help a very good friend of mine who is
in need of money to help forward a splendid cause."

Arnold was embarrassed. He glanced doubtfully at Mr. Weatherley, who
was fingering his cheque book.

"It is scarcely a matter for discussion--" his employer began, but
Fenella threw out her hands.

"Oh! la, la!" she interrupted. "Don't bore me so, my dear Samuel, or
I will come to this miserable place no more. Mr. Starling must have
this five hundred pounds because I have promised him, and because I
have promised my brother that he shall have it. It is most
important, and if all goes well it will come back to you some day or
other. If not, you must make up your mind to lose it. Please write
out the cheque, and afterwards Mr. Chetwode is to take me out to
lunch. Andrea asked me especially to bring him, and if we do not go
soon," she added, consulting a little jeweled watch upon her wrist,
"we shall be late. Andrea does not like to be kept waiting."

"I was hoping," Mr. Weatherley remarked, with an unwieldy attempt
at jocularity, "that I might be asked out to luncheon myself."

"Another day, my dear husband," she promised carelessly. "You know
that you and Andrea do not agree very well. You bore him so much and
then he is irritable. I do not like Andrea when he is irritable.
Give me my cheque, dear, and let me go."

Mr. Weatherley dipped his pen in the ink, solemnly wrote out a
cheque and tore it from the book. Fenella, who had risen to her feet
and was standing over him with her hand upon his shoulder, stuffed
it carelessly into the gold purse which she was carrying. Then she
patted him on the cheek with her gloved hand.

"Don't overwork," she said, "and come home punctually. Are you quite
ready, Mr. Chetwode?"

Arnold, who was finding the position more than ever embarrassing,
turned to his employer.

"Can you spare me, sir?" he asked.

Mr. Weatherley nodded.

"If my wife desires you to go, certainly," he r