of this meeting. They were standing together in one of
the reception rooms, waiting for some guests who were coming to dine,
and were alone except for a couple of footmen, who were lighting a huge
candelabrum of wax candles.

"Uncle," Virginia said, "I met Stella this afternoon, and she came and
spoke to me."

He looked at her without change of countenance.

"Well?" he said.

"I thought I ought to tell you," Virginia continued. "I was not sure how
you felt about it."

"I have no objection," he said, resting his hand for a moment upon her
shoulder, "to your talking to her whenever you may happen to meet. Only
remember one thing! She must not enter this house. You must never ask
her here. You must never suffer her to come. You understand that?"

"I understand," Virginia answered.

"And this man Vine, Mr. Norris Vine, have you met him?" he asked.

Virginia shook her head.

"No!" she said, "I have never seen him since that night at the
restaurant."

"The same thing," Phineas Duge said, "applies to him. Neither of them
must cross the threshold of this house. It is a hard thing to say of
one's own daughter, but those two are in league against me, if their
combination is worth speaking of seriously."

Virginia looked hopelessly puzzled. Phineas Duge hesitated for a moment,
and then continued--

"There are phases of our life here," he said, "which you could not hope
to understand, even if you had been born in this city. But you can
perhaps understand as much as this. In the higher regions of finance
there is very much scheming and diplomacy required. One carries always
secrets which must not be known, and one does things which it is
necessary to conceal for the good of others, as well as for one's own
benefit. I have been for some years engaged in operations whose success
depends entirely upon the secrecy with which they are conducted.
Naturally, there is an opposing side, there always must be. There are
buyers and sellers. If one succeeds, the other must fail, so you can
understand that one has enemies always."

"It sounds," she murmured, "almost romantic, like diplomacy or
politics."

He smiled.

"The secret history of the lives and operations of some of us, who have
made names in this country during the last few years," he said, "would
make the modern romance seem stale. Even odd scraps of news or surmises
are fought for by the Press. The journalists know well enough where to
come for their sensation. Ou