e here last night, under a
misapprehension, while masquerading as a boy. You will forget
immediately that I have told you this."

"Very good, sir," Wilkins said; and being one of those rare, model
creatures we read about but rarely meet, he straightened up and forced
his tone back to the matter-of-fact mumble. "As to breakfast, sir?"

Anthony glanced at Mary.

"Yes, I'm quite human," she said crisply. "I eat breakfast."

"For three, Wilkins," said Anthony.

And now, with Wilkins moving incessantly in and out, a peculiar, almost
silent constraint came upon them. Anthony, at the window gazed at the
distant street and tried his best to think; there was just one awful
thought that obtruded itself upon his mind and, although he thrust it
away again and again, the thought came back and mocked at him. Mentally,
he lashed at it--yet ever and anon it returned and mocked a little more
and made impish faces at him.

Johnson Boller, recovering in a long, delighted series of wheezes,
merely ambled to a corner and gazed at Mary, who affected to read
unconcernedly. She was certainly pretty and watching a pretty girl had
never wearied Mr. Boller; but far beyond her prettiness was the terrific
joke on old Anthony.

This was Anthony who, year in and year out, avoided even social
gatherings where women predominated. This was Anthony, who abominated
the whole sex and could be goaded into actual rage by repeated
suggestions that one of his wealth and standing should marry! This was
Anthony, who had threatened to leave the Lasande that day, long ago,
when the pretty little woman canvasser had flitted past the office and
made her way to this very living-room.

Well, it was one on Anthony! Nay, it was a million on Anthony! From this
day forth, Johnson Boller reflected in the depths of his perverted,
amusement-loving mind, he had such a grip on Anthony Fry that, should he
order that distinguished citizen to walk down Fifth Avenue with a lump
of sugar on his nose, he would have no choice but obedience.

And how Anthony would writhe and how that austere countenance could be
colored with the blush of helpless anger! A quantity of the savage,
merciless little boy had survived in Johnson Boller and this wait for
breakfast was really one of the happiest periods of his life.

Wilkins, quite himself again, worked deftly. The service elevator from
the pantry, one of the Lasande's features, whined softly to the Fry
apartment and stopped, and