ed Dorothy quietly, "it convicts
you of being a fool also."

"But that's another transaction," he objected.

"Is it?" she asked, and became absorbed in her notes.

For some time John Dene had continued to dictate. Presently he stopped
in the middle of a letter. "I hadn't figured it out that way," he said.

Dorothy looked up at him in surprise, then she realised that he was
referring to her previous remark, and that he was making the amende
honorable.

His manner frequently puzzled Dorothy. At times he seemed unaware of
her existence; at others she would, on looking up from her work, find
him regarding her intently. He showed entire confidence in her
discretion, allowing her access to documents of a most private and
confidential nature.

For week after week they worked incessantly. Dorothy was astonished at
the mass of detail requisite for the commissioning of a ship. Indents
for stores and equipment had to be prepared for the Admiralty, reports
from Blake read and replied to, requisitions for materials required had
to be confirmed, samples obtained, examined, and finally passed, and
instructions sent to Blake. Strange documents they seemed to Dorothy,
rendered bewildering by their technicalities, and flung at her in
short, jerky sentences as John Dene strode up and down the room.

"If you could only see John Dene prancing, mother mine," said Dorothy
one day to Mrs. West, "and the demure Dorothy taking down whole
dictionaries of funny words she never even knew existed, you'd be a
proud woman."

Mrs. West had smiled at her daughter, as she sat at her favourite place
on a stool at her feet.

"You see, what John Dene wants is managing," continued Dorothy sagely,
"and no one understands how to do it except Sir Bridgman and me. With
us he'll stand without hitching."

"Stand without what, dear," asked Mrs. West.

"Without hitching," laughed Dorothy. "That's one of his phrases. It
means that he's so tame that he'll eat out of your hand;" and she
laughed gaily at the puzzled look on her mother's face.

"Mr. Dene has been very kind," said Mrs. West presently. "I should
miss him very much if he went away." There was regret in her voice.

"Now, mother, no poaching," cried Dorothy. "John Dene is mine for
keeps, and if I let you come out with us and play gooseberry, you
mustn't try and cut me out, because," looking critically at her mother,
"you could if you liked. Nobody could help loving my little Vict