nded, as he did not speak. "Yes, dear."

"What are you going to do for Mr. Sage, now that Department Z is
being demobbed? You know you like him, because you didn't want to
ginger him up, and you mustn't forget that he saved your life," she
added.

"Sure!"

"Don't say 'sure,' John," she cried. "You're a British baronet, and
British baronets don't say 'sure,' 'shucks' or vamoose.' Do you
understand?"

He nodded thoughtfully;

"I like Mr. Sage," announced Dorothy. Then a moment later she added,
"He always reminds me of the superintendent of a Sunday-school, with
his conical bald head and gold spectacles. He's not a bit like a
detective, is he?"

"Sure!"

"If you say it again, John, I shall scream," she cried.

For some seconds there was silence, broken at length by Dorothy.

"I like his wonderful hands, too," she continued. "I'm sure he's
proud of them, because he can never keep them still. If you say
'sure,' I'll divorce you," she added hastily.

He smiled, that sudden, sunny smile she had learned to look for and
love.

"Then again I like him because he's always courteous and kind. At
Department Z they'd have had their appendixes out if Mr. Sage wanted
them. Now have you made up your mind?"

"Made it up to what?" he asked, lighting a cigar.

"That you're going to set him up as a private detective," she said
coolly. "I don't want him to come here and not find everything
planned out."

"He won't do that," said Sir John Dene with conviction. "He's no
lap-dog."

"I wrote and asked him to call at ten to-day," she said coolly.

"Snakes, you did!" he cried, sitting up in his chair.

"Alligators, I did!" she mocked.

"You're sure some wife;" he looked at her admiringly.

"I sure am," she laughed lightly, "but I'm only just beginning, John
dear. By the way, I asked Sir James Walton to come too," she added
casually.

"You----" he began, when the door opened and a little, silver-haired
lady entered. Sir John Dene jumped to his feet.

"Behold the mother of the bride," cried Dorothy gaily.

"Good morning, John," said Mrs. West as he bent and kissed her cheek.
She always breakfasted in her room; she abounded in tact.

"Now we'll get away from the eggs and bacon," cried Dorothy. "In the
language of the woolly West, we'll vamoose," and she led the way out
of the dining-room along the corridor to Sir John Dene's den.

"Come along, mother-mine," she cried over her shoulder. "We've got a
lot to discuss befo