rture, recalling the days when he had sent
a messenger boy to some inaccessible threshold, himself stamping up
and down in the cold a block or so away to await the boy's return.

Rollo was back almost immediately. Mrs. Hastings and Miss Holland
were not at home. St. George eyed his servant severely.

"Rollo," he said, "did you go to the door of their apartment?"

"No, sir," said Rollo stiffly, "the elevator boy told me they was
out, sir."

"Showing," thought St. George, "that a valet and a gentleman is a
very poor newspaper man."

"Now go back," he said pleasantly, "go up in the elevator to their
door. If they are not in, wait in the lower hallway until they
return. Do you get that? Until they return."

"You'll want me back by tea-time, sir?" ventured Rollo.

"Wait," St. George repeated, "until they return. At three. Or six.
Or nine o'clock. Or midnight."

"Very good, sir," said Rollo impassively, "it ain't always wise,
sir, for a man to trust to his own judgment, sir, asking your
pardon. His judgment," he added, "may be a bit of the ape left in
him, sir."

St. George smiled at this evolutionary pearl and settled himself
comfortably by the open fire to await Rollo's return. It was after
three o'clock when he reappeared. He brought a note and St. George
feverishly tore it open.

"Whom did you see? Were they civil to you?" he demanded.

"I saw a old lady, sir," said Rollo irreverently. "She didn't say a
word to me, sir, but what she didn't say was civiler than many
people's language. There's a great deal in manner, sir," declaimed
Rollo, brushing his hat with his sleeve, and his sleeve with his
handkerchief, and shaking the handkerchief meditatively over the
coals.

St. George read the note at a glance and with unspeakable relief.
They would see him. A refusal would have delayed and annoyed him
just then, in the flood-tide of his hope.

"My Dear Mr. St. George," the note ran. "My niece is not at
home, and I can not tell how your suggestion will be received
by her, though it is most kind. I may, however, answer for
myself that I shall be glad to see you at four o'clock this
afternoon.
"Very truly yours,
"MEDORA HASTINGS."

Grateful for her evident intention to waste no time, St. George
dressed and drove to the Boris, punctually sending up his card at
four o'clock. At once he was ushered to Mrs. Hastings' apartment.

St. George