tump of his cigar into an ash tray. "That's a
good cigar," he went on with a derisive smile. "Thanks. Good-bye."

* * * * *

Bull was at the telephone again. He was again smiling at the insurance
advertisement. But now his smile was of a different quality. It was full
of delighted anticipation.

"Oh, yes," he was saying. "I spent quite a pleasant ha'f hour with him.
I enjoyed it immensely. Yes. He seems to be the man to run an enterprise
like yours. He certainly has both initiative and confidence. A little
hasty in judgment, I think. But--yes, I'd like to tell you all about it.
What are you doing this evening? Oh, resting. I suppose you eat while
resting. Yes. It's necessary, isn't it? Anyway I find it so. Eh? Oh,
yes. You see, I've a big frame to support. Will you help me to support
it this evening? I mean dinner here? Will you? Oh, that's fine. I'd love
to tell you about it all. Fine. Right. Eight o'clock then. I'll go and
arrange it all now. It shall be a very special dinner, I promise you.
Good-bye."

He put up the receiver and turned away. His smile remained, and it had
no relation to anything but his delight that Nancy McDonald had
consented to dine with him.

CHAPTER XII

AT THE CHATEAU

Nancy was standing before the mirror which occupied the whole length of
the door of the dress-closet with which her modest bedroom had been
provided by a thoughtful architect.

She was studying the results of her preparations. She was to dine with
Bull Sternford, the man who had caught and held her interest for all she
knew that they belonged to camps that were sternly opposed to each
other. She wanted to look her best, whatever that best might be, and she
was haunted by a fear that her best could never rank in its due place
amongst the superlatives.

However, she had arrayed herself in her newest and smartest party frock.
She had spent hours, she believed, on her unruly masses of hair, and
furthermore, she had assiduously applied herself to obliterating the
weather stain which the fierce journey from Labrador had inflicted upon
the beautiful oval of her cheeks. Now, at last, the final touches had
been given, and she was critically surveying the result.

The longer she studied her reflection the deeper grew the discontent in
her pretty, hazel eyes. It was the same old reflection, she told
herself. It was a bit tricked out; a bit less real. It was a tiresome
thing which gave her no