your way out." He pressed a button and the
editor disappeared through the trap-door.

Alone again, Hector Strong thought keenly for a moment. Then he pressed
bell "38." Instantly a footman presented himself with a tray of
sandwiches.

"What do you mean by this?" roared Strong, his iron self-control for a
moment giving way.

"I b-beg your pardon, sir," stammered the man. "I th-thought----"

"Get out!" As the footman retired, Strong passed his hand across his
forehead. "My memory is bad to-day," he murmured, and pushed bell "48."

A tall thin man entered.

"Ah, good afternoon, Mr. Brownlow," said the Proprietor. He toyed with
his blue pencil. "Let me see, which of our papers are under your charge
at the moment?"

Mr. Brownlow reflected.

"Just now," he said, "I am editing _Snippety Snips_, _The Whoop_, _The
Girls' Own Aunt_, _Parings_, _Slosh_, _The Sunday Sermon_, and _Back
Chat_."

"Ah! Well, I want you to take on _Sloppy Chunks_ too for a little while.
Mr. Symes has had to leave us."

"Yes, sir." Mr. Brownlow bowed and moved to the door.

"By the way," Strong said, "your last number of _Slosh_ was very good.
Very good indeed. I congratulate you. Good day."

Left alone, Hector Strong, lord of journalism and swayer of empires,
resumed his pacings. His two mistakes with the bell told him that he was
distinctly not himself this afternoon. Was it only the need of a new
policy for _The Vane_ which troubled him? Or was it----

Could it be Lady Dorothy?

Lady Dorothy Neal was something of an enigma to Hector Strong. He was
making more than a million pounds a year, and yet she did not want to
marry him. Sometimes he wondered if the woman were quite sane. Yet, mad
or sane, he loved her.

A secretary knocked and entered. He waited submissively for half an hour
until the Proprietor looked up.

"Well?"

"Lady Dorothy Neal would like to see you for a moment, sir."

"Show her in."

Lady Dorothy came in brightly.

"What nice-looking men you have here," she said. "Who is the one in the
blue waistcoat? He has curly hair."

"You didn't come to talk about _him_?" said Hector reproachfully.

"I didn't come to talk _to_ him really, but if you keep me waiting half
an hour---- Why, what are you doing?"

Strong looked up from the note he was writing. The tender lines had gone
from his face, and he had become the stern man of action again.

"I am giving instructions that the services of my commissionaire,
hall-