em had told him what a
striking-looking fellow he was, so tall, and with such a bold carriage
of that round dark head.

"Here they come, Arthur," he remarked. "No more time. But I'll try to
squeeze in a minute or two, while they are here, to finish up these last
ones."

The young man followed the direction of his eyes and nodded. He
continued looking at the advancing group for a moment, and as he stood
up, "You could tell that Mr. Marsh is a millionaire by the way his
clothes fit, couldn't you?" he remarked, turning to go back to his desk
in the outer office.

They were coming down the hall now. Neale went forward to open the door,
met and breasted the wave of children who after hugging casually at his
knees and arms, swept by; and stepped forward to be presented to the
newcomers. They had not crossed the threshold, before his first
impression was reversed in one case. Marsh was a live-wire all right.
Now that he had seen his eyes, he knew what Elly had meant when she said
that when he looked at you it was like lightning.

Mr. Bayweather barely waited for the first greetings to be pronounced
before he burst out, "Do they say, 'backwards and forwards' or 'back and
forth'?"

Neale laughed. Old Bayweather was perennial. "Backwards and forwards, of
course," he said. "English people always say everything the longest
possible way." He explained to the others, "Mr. Bayweather is an
impassioned philologist . . ."

"So I have gathered," commented Marsh.

". . . and whenever any friends of his go on travels, they are always
asked to bring back some philological information about the region where
they go."

He turned to Marise (how sweet she looked in that thin yellow dress).
"Where do you want your personally conducted to begin, dear?" he asked
her. (Lord! How good it seemed to get back to Marise!)

Mr. Bayweather cut in hastily, "If I may be permitted to suggest, I
think a history of the mill would be advisable as a beginning. I will be
glad to tell the newcomers about this. I've just been working the
subject up for a chapter in history of Ashley."

Neale caught an anguished side-glance from Marise and sent back to her a
shrugged message of helplessness in the face of Destiny. The man didn't
live who could head old Bayweather off when he got started on local
history. And besides, this would give him time to get those last three
letters finished. Aloud he said, "I wouldn't dare say a word about
history in Mr. Baywea