Garland. "How much time do you want--two years?"

The diplomat exclaimed mockingly:

"Two months!"

"I win now," said the consul. "I'll go home and pack."

The next morning his clerk told Everett that in the outer office Monica
Ward awaited him.

Overnight Everett had developed a prejudice against Miss Ward. What
Garland had said in her favor had only driven him the wrong way. Her
universal popularity he disliked. He argued that to gain popularity
one must concede and capitulate. He felt that the sister of an
acknowledged crook, no matter how innocent she might be, were she a
sensitive woman, would wish to efface herself. And he had found that,
as a rule, women who worked in hospitals and organized societies bored
him. He did not admire the militant, executive sister. He pictured
Miss Ward as probably pretty, but with the coquettish effrontery of the
village belle and with the pushing, "good-fellow" manners of the new
school. He was prepared either to have her slap him on the back or,
from behind tilted eye-glasses, make eyes at him. He was sure she wore
eye-glasses, and was large, plump, and Junoesque. With reluctance he
entered the outer office. He saw, all in white, a girl so young that
she was hardly more than a child, but with the tall, slim figure of a
boy. Her face was lovely as the face of a violet, and her eyes were as
shy. But shy not through lack of confidence in Everett, nor in any
human being, but in herself. They seemed to say, "I am a very
unworthy, somewhat frightened young person; but you, who are so big and
generous, will overlook that, and you are going to be my friend.
Indeed, I see you are my friend."

Everett stood quite still. He nodded gloomily.

"Garland was right," he exclaimed; "I do!"

The young lady was plainly distressed.

"Do what?" she stammered.

"Some day I will tell you," said the young man. "Yes," he added,
without shame, "I am afraid I will." He bowed her into the inner
office.

"I am sorry," apologized Monica, "but I am come to ask a favor--two
favors; one of you and one of the American minister."

Everett drew his armchair from his desk and waved Monica into it.

"I was sent here," he said, "to do exactly what you want. The last
words the President addressed to me were, 'On arriving at your post
report to Miss Monica Ward."'

Fearfully, Monica perched herself on the edge of the armchair; as
though for protection she clasped the broad table before