red ushering in Shirley.

The mouse was in the den of the lion.

CHAPTER XII

Mr. Ryder remained at his desk and did not even look up when his
visitor entered. He pretended to be busily preoccupied with his
papers, which was a favourite pose of his when receiving
strangers. This frigid reception invariably served its purpose,
for it led visitors not to expect more than they got, which
usually was little enough. For several minutes Shirley stood
still, not knowing whether to advance or to take a seat. She gave
a little conventional cough, and Ryder looked up. What he saw so
astonished him that he at once took from his mouth the cigar he
was smoking and rose from his seat. He had expected a gaunt old
maid with spectacles, and here was a stylish, good-looking young
woman, who could not possibly be over twenty-five. There was
surely some mistake. This slip of a girl could not have written
"The American Octopus." He advanced to greet Shirley.

"You wish to see me, Madame?" he asked courteously. There were
times when even John Burkett Ryder could be polite.

"Yes," replied Shirley, her voice trembling a little; in spite of
her efforts to keep cool. "I am here by appointment. Three
o'clock, Mrs. Ryder's note said. I am Miss Green."

"_You_--Miss Green?" echoed the financier dubiously.

"Yes, I am Miss Green--Shirley Green, author of 'The American
Octopus.' You asked me to call. Here I am."

For the first time in his life, John Ryder was nonplussed. He
coughed and stammered and looked round for a place where he could
throw his cigar. Shirley, who enjoyed his embarrassment, put him
at his ease.

"Oh, please go on smoking," she said; "I don't mind it in the
least."

Ryder threw the cigar into a receptacle and looked closely at his
visitor.

"So you are Shirley Green, eh?"

"That is my _nom-de-plume_--yes," replied the girl nervously. She
was already wishing herself back at Massapequa. The financier eyed
her for a moment in silence as if trying to gauge the strength of
the personality of this audacious young woman, who had dared to
criticise his business methods in public print; then, waving her
to a seat near his desk, he said:

"Won't you sit down?"

"Thank you," murmured Shirley. She sat down, and he took his seat
at the other side of the desk, which brought them face to face.
Again inspecting the girl with a close scrutiny that made her
cheeks burn, Ryder said:

"I rather expected--" He stopped for