rchant's daughter. I can see that you will end your days in the
halo of respectability."

Peter Ruff was a little thoughtful. He scratched his chin and
contemplated the tip of his faultless patent boot. Self-analysis
interested him, and he recognized the truth of the girl's words.

"You know, I am rather like that," he admitted. "When I see a family
party, I envy them. When I hear of a man who has brothers and sisters
and aunts and cousins, and gives family dinner-parties to family
friends, I envy him. I do not care about the loose ends of life. I do
not care about restaurant life, and ladies who transfer their regards
with the same facility that they change their toilettes. You have very
admirable powers of observation, Violet. You see me, I believe, as I
really am."

"That being so," she remarked, "what are you going to say to Sir Richard
Dyson?"

Peter Ruff was frank.

"Upon my soul," he answered, "I don't know!"

"You'll have to make up your mind very soon," she reminded him. "He is
coming here at twelve o'clock."

Peter Ruff nodded.

"I shall wait until I hear what he has to say," he remarked.

"His letter gave you a pretty clear hint," Violet said, "that it was
something outside the law."

"The law has many outposts," Peter Ruff said. "One can thread one's
way in and out, if one knows the ropes. I don't like the man, but he
introduced me to his tailor. I have never had any clothes like those he
has made me."

She sighed.

"You are a vain little person," she said.

"You are an impertinent young woman!" he answered. "Get back to your
work. Don't you hear the lift stop?"

She rose reluctantly, and resumed her place in front of her desk.

"If it's risky," she whispered, leaning round towards him, "don't you
take it on. I've heard one or two things about Sir Richard lately."

Peter Ruff nodded. He, too, quitted his easy-chair, and took up a bundle
of papers which lay upon his desk. There was a sharp tap at the door.

"Come in!" he said.

Sir Richard Dyson entered. He was dressed quietly, but with the perfect
taste which was obviously an instinct with him, and he wore a big bunch
of violets in his buttonhole. Nevertheless, the spring sunshine seemed
to find out the lines in his face. His eyes were baggy--he had aged even
within the last few months.

"Well, Mr. Ruff," he said, shaking hands, "how goes it?"

"I am very well, Sir Richard," Peter Ruff answered. "Please take a
chair."

Sir Richar