s
business home just as the Gorgeous Girl would have the apartment set
in spick-and-span order. It was during the general upsetting with
brooms, mops, paint pots, and what not, while Mary good-naturedly
tried to work at a standing desk, that Mark Constantine dropped in
unexpectedly.

"Gad!" he began, characteristically. "Thought I'd find you in your
cool and hospitable office inviting me to have a siesta." He mopped
his face with a huge silk handkerchief.

"Try it in a few days and we will be quite shipshape." Mary wheeled up
a chair for him. "Anything I can do for you?"

He sank down with relief; his fast-accumulating flesh made him awkward
and fond of lopping down at unexpected intervals. He glanced up at
this amazing young woman, crisp and cool in her blue muslin dress, the
tiny gold watch in a black silk guard being her only ornament. His
brows drew into what appeared to be a forbidding frown; he really
liked Mary, with her steady eyes somehow suggesting eternity and her
funny freckled nose destroying any such notion.

"How are you getting on?" was all he said.

"Splendidly. We expect Mr. O'Valley a week from Monday--but of course
you know that yourself."

"Gad," Constantine repeated.

"And how is Mr. Constantine?" Mary asked, almost graciously.

"In the hands of my enemy," he protested. "Bea left a hundred and one
things to be seen to. My sister has sprained her ankle and is out of
the running. It's the apartment that causes the trouble--Bea has sent
letter after letter telling what she wants us to do. I thought
everything was all set before she went away but--here!" He drew out
violet notepaper and handed it over. "Sorry to bother you, but when
that girl gets home and settled I hope she'll be able to tend to her
own affairs and leave us in peace. I guess you understand how women
are about settling a new house."

Reluctantly Mary deciphered the slanting, curlicue handwriting, which
said in part:

Now, papa dear, I'm terribly worried about the painted Chinese
wall panels for the little salon. They are likely to be the wrong
design. Jill has written that hers were. So please get the man to
give you a guarantee that he will correct any mistakes. I want you
to go to Brayton's and get white-and-gold jars that will look well
in the dining room--Brayton knows my tastes. Besides this, he is
to have two rose pots of old Wheldon ware for me--they will
contain electrically lighted flowers--like o