comfortable
chair. "I have just arrived. Order me some sandwiches and a cup of tea.
I'm famished."

He obeyed.

"I take it you have come to see me?" he said, quietly enough, though
aware of a queer fluttering about the region of his heart.

"Yes. I am so worried about Rex."

"Dear me! The girl?"

"It is always a woman. How you men must loathe us in your sane moments,
if you ever have any."

"I flatter myself that I am sane, yet how could I say that I loathe
_your_ sex, Mrs. Carshaw?"

"I wonder if your flattery will bear analysis. But there! No serious
talk until I am refreshed. Do ring for some biscuits; sandwiches are apt
to be slow in the cutting."

Thus by pretext she kept him from direct converse until a tea-tray, with
a film of _pate de fois_ coyly hidden in thin bread and butter, formed,
as it were, a rampart between them.

"How did you happen on my address?" he asked smilingly.

It was the first shell of real warfare, and she answered in kind: "That
was quite easy. The people at the detective bureau know it."

The words hit him like a bullet.

"The Bureau!" he cried.

"Yes. The officials there are interested in the affairs of Winifred
Marchbanks."

He went ashen-gray, but essayed, nevertheless, to turn emotion into mere
amazement. He was far too clever a man to pretend a blank negation. The
situation was too strenuous for any species of ostrich device.

"I seem to remember that name," he said slowly, moistening his lips with
his tongue.

"Of course you do. You have never forgotten it. Let us have a friendly
chat about her, Senator. My son is going to marry her. That is why I am
here."

She munched her sandwiches and sipped her tea. This experienced woman of
the world, now boldly declared on the side of romance, was far too
astute to force the man to desperation unless it was necessary. He must
be given breathing-time, permitted to collect his wits. She was sure of
her ground. Her case was not legally strong. Meiklejohn would discover
that defect, and, indeed, it was not her object to act legally. If
others could plot and scheme, she would have a finger in the pie--that
was all. And behind her was the clear brain of Steingall, who had camped
for days near the Senator in Atlantic City, and had advised the mother
how to act for her son.

There was a long silence. She ate steadily.

"Perhaps you will be good enough to state explicitly why you are here,
Mrs. Carshaw," said Meiklejohn at la