es turned with an exaggerated start.

"A lady?" he said in a tone of incredulity. "Gracious Heavens! This
is news to me, dear old miss. Show her in, please, show her in. A
private interview, eh?" He looked meaningly at Hamilton. Hamilton did
not raise his eyes--in accordance with his contract. "A private
interview, eh?" said Bones louder. "Does she want to see me by myself?"

"Perhaps you would like to see her in my room," said the girl. "I
could stay here with Mr. Hamilton."

Bones glared at the unconscious Hamilton.

"That is not necessary, dear old typewriter," he said stiffly. "Show
the young woman in, please."

The "young woman," came in. Rather, she tripped and undulated and
swayed from the outer office to the chair facing Bones, and Bones rose
solemnly to greet her.

Miss Marguerite Whitland, the beautiful Being, who had surveyed the
tripping and swaying and undulating with the same frank curiosity that
Cleopatra might have devoted to a performing seal, went into her office
and closed the door gently behind her.

"Sit down, sit down," said Bones. "And what can I do for you, young
miss?"

The girl smiled. It was one of those flashing smiles which make
susceptible men blink. Bones was susceptible. Never had he been gazed
upon with such kindness by a pair of such large, soft, brown eyes.
Never had cheeks dimpled so prettily and so pleasurably, and seldom had
Bones experienced such a sensation of warm embarrassment--not
unpleasant--as he did now.

"I am sure I am being an awful nuisance to you, Mr. Tibbetts," said the
lady. "You don't know my name, do you? Here is my card." She had it
ready in her hand, and put it in front of him. Bones waited a minute
or two while he adjusted his monocle, and read:

"MISS BERTHA STEGG."

As a matter of fact, he read it long before he had adjusted his
monocle, but the official acknowledgment was subsequent to that
performance.

"Yes, yes," said Bones, who on such occasions as these, or on such
occasions as remotely resembled these, was accustomed to take on the
air and style of the strong, silent man. "What can we do for you, my
jolly old--Miss Stegg?"

"It's a charity," blurted the girl, and sat back to watch the effect of
her words. "Oh, I know what you business men are! You simply hate
people bothering you for subscriptions! And really, Mr. Tibbetts, if I
had to come to ask you for money, I would never have come at all. I
think it's so