iar.

The doorbell rang, and was immediately followed by the opening and
closing of the front door.

From her station at the telephone Lily Cardew saw a man come in, little
more than a huge black shadow, which placed a hat on the stand and then,
striking a match, lighted the gas overhead. In the illumination he stood
before the mirror, smoothing back his shining black hair. Then he saw
her, stared and retreated into the sitting room.

"Got company, I see."

"My niece, Lily Cardew," said Doyle, dryly.

The gentleman seemed highly amused. Evidently he considered Lily's
presence in the house in the nature of a huge joke. He was conveying
this by pantomime, in deference to the open door, when Doyle nodded
toward Elinor.

"It's customary to greet your hostess, Louis."

"Easiest thing I do," boasted the new arrival cheerily. "'Lo, Mrs.
Doyle. Is our niece going to dine with us?"

"I don't know yet, Mr. Akers," she said, without warmth. Louis Akers
knew quite well that Elinor did not like him, and the thought amused
him, the more so since as a rule women liked him rather too well. Deep
in his heart he respected Jim Doyle's wife, and sometimes feared her. He
respected her because she had behind her traditions of birth and wealth,
things he professed to despise but secretly envied. He feared her
because he trusted no woman, and she knew too much.

She loved Jim Doyle, but he had watched her, and he knew that sometimes
she hated Doyle also. He knew that could be, because there had been
women he had both loved and hated himself.

Elinor had gone out, and Akers sat down.

"Well," he said, in a lowered tone. "I've written it."

Doyle closed the door, and stood again with his head lowered,
considering.

"You'd better look over it," continued Lou. "I don't want to be jailed.
You're better at skating over thin ice than I am. And I've been thinking
over the Prohibition matter, Jim. In a sense you're right. It will make
them sullen and angry. But they won't go the limit without booze. I'd
advise cache-ing a lot of it somewhere, to be administered when needed."

Doyle returned to his old place on the hearth-rug, still thoughtful. He
had paid no attention to Aker's views on Prohibition, nor to the paper
laid upon the desk in the center of the room.

"Do you know that that girl in the hall will be worth forty million
dollars some day?"

"Some money," said Akers, calmly. "Which reminds me, Jim, that I've got
to have a ra