lescent should come to her house until
his strength was quite returned, instead of returning to his small and
stuffy hotel quarters, and Esme had come in her car to transfer him. It
was the day after the Talk-It-Over Breakfast at which Hal had announced
the prospective fall of the "Clarion."

"I'll be glad to get back to the office," said Ellis to Esme. "They
certainly need me."

"You aren't fit yet," protested the girl.

"Fitter than the Boss. He's worrying himself sick."

"Isn't everything all right?"

"All wrong! It's this cussed Pierce libel case that's taking the heart
out of him."

"Oh!" cried Esme, on a note of utter dismay. "Why didn't you tell me,
Mr. Mac?"

"Tell you? What do you know about it?"

"Lots! Everything." She fell into silent thoughtfulness. "I supposed
that you had heard from Mr. Pierce, or his lawyer, at the office. I
_must_ see Hal--Mr. Surtaine--now. Does he still come to see you?"

"Everyday."

"Send word to him to be at the Willards' at two to-morrow. And--and,
please, Mr. Mac, don't tell him why."

"Now, what kind of a little game is this?" began Ellis, teasingly. "Am I
an amateur Cupid, or what's my cue?" He looked into the girl's face and
saw tears in the great brown eyes. "Hello!" he said with a change of
voice. "What's wrong, Esme? I'm sorry."

"Oh, _I'm_ wrong!" she cried. "I ought to have spoken long ago. No, no!
I'm all right now!" She smiled gloriously through her tears. "Here we
are. You'll be sure that he's there?"

"Fear not, but lean on Dollinger
And he will fetch you through"--

quoted the other in oratorical assurance, and turned to Mrs. Willard's
greeting.

At one-thirty on the following day, Mr. McGuire Ellis was where he
shouldn't have been, asleep in a curtained alcove window-seat of the big
Willard library. At one minute past two he was where he should have been
still less; that is, in the same place and condition. Now Mr. Ellis is
not only the readiest hair-trigger sleeper known to history, but he is
also one of the most profound and persistent. Entrances and exits
disturb him not, nor does the human voice penetrate to the region of
his dreams. To everything short of earthquake, explosion, or physical
contact, his slumber is immune. Therefore he took no note when Miss Esme
Elliot came in, nor when, a moment later, Mr. Harrington Surtaine
arrived, unannounced. Nor, since he was thoroughly shut in by the
draperies, was either of them aware of his pr