all and threw open one of the doors that
opened into it. "Here you are!" he announced, switching on a blaze of
electric light that showed a small room shrouded in white covers. "The
first thing you see is a life-size picture of yourself. I guess that's
what you want."

"You have guessed right. You deserve a prize," Win answered.

In the lighted boudoir a mirror faced the door.

"Will you give me a few minutes to myself?" she asked. "I may just as
well confess that this surprise of yours has--gone to my head a
little, as your champagne probably will--when I drink it. The hot
weather has been taking it out of me horribly, and I'm not very
strong. If I may sit still for five minutes and shut my eyes and
think, why--I'm sure I shall be a more amusing guest at supper."

Logan, who had touched the electric-light switch inside the door,
stood on the threshold, barring the way. Win did not try to push past
him, nor did she show any impatience, nor even eagerness. He stared
her in the eyes as if to ask: "What trick do you hope to play, I
wonder? Do you think I'm such a blamed idiot as to leave a way out
open after all the trouble and expense I've put myself to on your
account?"

But being perfectly sure that there was no way out, no trick in her
power seemed worth worrying about--unless she had some melodramatic
little bottle of poison concealed about her which she would drain and
die, like the heroine of an old-fashioned play. He was certain that
the brave, vital young creature who had seized his fancy would do
nothing of the kind, however, and he felt that it was safe to humour
her.

"You can even go to sleep on the sofa, if you like, provided you'll
promise to dream of me," he said, "and if you'll let me come and wake
you up. Oh, I've caught you looking at the keyhole! There's no key in
it, you see, for me to lock you in--or for you to lock me out."

"Neither of us would be so medieval, would we?" she laughed. "That
would be a silly way to begin the evening. Now that I am here I am
going to make the very, very best of it, I promise you!"

"That's right! You're the girl of my heart!" said Logan, and, stepping
away from the door, let her walk into the lighted boudoir.

Gently and slowly, almost coquettishly, she shut him out, smiling into
his face until the oak panels had closed between him and her.

CHAPTER XXI

THE TELEPHONE

The boudoir was stuffy and smelled of moth powder With its ivory-white
walls