nd in
half an hour. You can stay here till closing time and come across and
see me after supper."

The telephone tinkled at Jacob's elbow. He picked up the receiver and
listened for a moment. His own share of the conversation was
insignificant.

"Of course you can," he said. "Certainly, I shall be here.... In five
minutes?... Yes!"

He replaced the receiver.

"Lady Mary Felixstowe is calling here, Dauncey," he announced. "She
can be shown in at once."

Lady Mary, very smart in white muslin and a black hat, followed hard
upon her telephone message. She was full of curiosity and without the
least embarrassment.

"Don't tell me that all your money is made in a little office like
this!" she exclaimed, as she sank into the easy-chair.

"It isn't," he assured her. "It's all made in America. I simply sit
here and try to keep it."

"Am I being at all unusual in visiting you like this?" she asked.

"I've had visits from lady clients before," he replied. "Let us assume
that you have come to consult me about an eight-roomed villa at
Cropstone."

"Cropstone?" she repeated. "That is the sort of garden city place,
isn't it, where one has a doll's house with fifty feet of garden, a
lecture hall with free cookery lectures twice a week, and a strap-hang
in a motor-car to the station every morning."

"One might accept that as a pessimistic impression of the place,"
Jacob conceded.

Lady Mary sighed.

"That is where I shall have to live," she said, "if I marry Maurice."

Jacob was suddenly thoughtful. He was thinking of a small rose garden
at Cropstone and a watering can.

"If you care enough," he ventured gravely, "the conditions of life
don't seem to matter so much, do they?"

She made a little grimace.

"How is Miss Bultiwell?" she asked, with apparent irrelevance.

"I was going to ask you," Jacob replied. "I have not seen her since
the night I dined at your house."

"She is still with my aunt, I believe," Lady Mary continued. "The
children adore her."

"Have you seen her lately?" Jacob asked.

"Last week. Promise you won't be broken-hearted if I tell you
something?"

"I'll try."

"I met her in the Park--with whom do you think?"

"No idea."

"With Maurice. Of course, I didn't ask any questions, and they might
have met accidentally, but I never saw Maurice look such an idiot. I
think a man ought to be able to conceal his feelings, don't you, Mr.
Pratt? Should you look an idiot, now, if your fiancee w