. Several times he span round in his
revolving chair with a "Say, Miss West;" but as soon as Dorothy raised
her eyes from her work, he seemed to lose the thread of his ideas and,
with a mumbled incoherence, turned to the mechanical sorting of the
papers before him.

Dorothy was puzzled to account for his strangeness of manner, and after
a time determined that he must be ill.

Presently he jumped up and began restlessly pacing the room. Three
times he paused beside Dorothy as she was engaged in checking
inventories. Immediately she looked up, he pivoted round on his heel
and restarted the pacing, twirling between his lips the cigar that had
gone out an hour before.

On the fourth occasion that he stood looking down at her, Dorothy
turned.

"If you do that, I shall scream," she cried.

He stepped back a pace, obviously disconcerted by her threat.

"Do what?" he enquired.

"Why, prance up and down like that, and then come and stand over me.
It--it makes me nervous," she added lamely, as she returned to her work.

"Sorry," said John Dene, as he threw himself once more into his chair.

Suddenly with an air of decision, Dorothy put down her pencil and
turning, faced him.

"Aren't you well, Mr. Dene?" she inquired.

"Well," he repeated with some asperity. "Of course I'm well."

"Oh!" she said, disconcerted by his manner. Then for a moment there
was silence.

"Why shouldn't I be well?" he demanded uncompromisingly.

"No reason at all," said Dorothy indifferently, "only----" She paused.

"Only what?" he enquired sharply.

"Only," she continued calmly, "you seem a little--a little--may I say
jumpy?" She looked up at him with a smile.

Without replying he sprang from his chair, and once more started pacing
the room with short, nervous strides, his head thrust forward, his left
hand in his jacket pocket, his right hanging loosely at his side.

"That's it!" he exclaimed at last.

Dorothy continued to regard him in wonder. Something of vital
importance must have happened, she decided, to produce this effect on a
man of John Dene's character.

"It's--it's not the _Destroyer_" she cried breathlessly at last.
"Nothing has happened?"

John Dene shook his head vigorously, and continued his "prancing."

"Then what----" began Dorothy.

"Listen," he said. "I've never had any use for women," he began, then
stopped suddenly and stood looking straight at her.

Dorothy groaned inwardly, convinced that she