bility appeared,
clothed in extreme evening dress, and established himself, ramrod-like,
in a customary spot in the center of the floor. There was a figure on
the Persian rug whereon Mr. Gwynn never failed to take position. Once in
place, eye as expressionless as the eye of a fish, Mr. Gwynn would wait
in dead silence for Richard to speak.

Mr. Gwynn had occupied his wonted spot on the rug two minutes before
Richard came out of his reverie. Turning to Mr. Gwynn, he addressed him
through murky wreaths.

"I shall go to New York to-morrow."

"Very good, sir," said Mr. Gwynn, and his back creaked in just the
specter of a bow.

"When are the President and General Attorney of the Anaconda to be
here?"

"Tuesday, sir; the eighth of the month."

"I shall return before that time."

"Very good, sir!" and Mr. Gwynn again approved the utterances of Richard
with a creaky mandarin inclination of the head and shoulders.

"They will arrive on the eighth. Say to them that they must remain until
the fifteenth, one week. On Thursday--the tenth--you will give a dinner
in honor of Senator Hanway; it is to be fifty covers. The Anaconda
people will come. I'll furnish you the completed list of guests when I
get back."

"Very good, sir."

"You may go."

"Yes, sir; you are very kind, sir;" and the austere Mr. Gwynn creaked
himself out.

Richard was left with his thoughts, while the silent Matzai, who had
heard the word New York, began packing what trunks were needed for the
journey.

Storri was ruthlessly eager to get some taste of his great triumph, and
came that same evening to the Harley house. Senator Hanway had been
detained by a night session, and the quartette--Dorothy, Mr. Harley,
Mrs. Hanway-Harley, and Storri--sat together at dinner. Dorothy, pale
and still and chill, was like a girlish image made of snow. There was a
queer look of fright and shame and horror all in one about her virgin
eyes. How she got through the dinner she could not have told, and only
her love for her father held her up.

Mr. Harley was in no livelier case; and, albeit he drank much more than
usual, the wine put no color in his muddy cheek nor did it cure its
flabbiness. To sit at his own table and tremble before his own guest
might have wasted the spirits of even a hardier man than Mr. Harley.

Dorothy was in agony--a kind of despair of shame, eating nothing, saying
less, and this attracted the shallow attention of Mrs. Hanway-Harley.

"Wha