his
reply, whatever it might have been, was interrupted by the announcement
of Miss Wiggin, who entered at that moment, that a lady wished to see
him.

"She asked for Mr. Tutt," explained Minerva.

"But I think her case is more in your line," and she nodded to Tutt.

"Good looking?" inquired Tutt roguishly.

"Very," returned Miss Wiggin. "A blonde."

"Thanks," answered Tutt, smoothing his hair; "I'm on my way."

Now this free, almost vulgar manner of speech was in reality foreign to
both Tutt and Miss Wiggin and it was born of the instant, due doubtless
to some peculiar juxtaposition of astral bodies in Cupid's horoscope
unknown to them, but which none the less had its influence. Strange
things happen on the eve of St. Agnes and on Midsummer Night--even in
law offices.

Mrs. Allison was sitting by the window in Tutt's office when he came in,
and for a full minute he paused upon the threshold while she pretended
she did not know that he was there. The deluge of sunlight that fell
upon her face betrayed no crack or wrinkle--no flaw of any kind--in the
white marble of its perfection. It was indeed a lovely face, classic in
the chiseling of its transparent alabaster; and when she turned, her
eyes were like misty lakes of blue. Bar none, she was the most beautiful
creature--and there had been many--that had ever wandered into the
offices of Tutt & Tutt. He sought for a word. "Wonderful"; that was, it,
she was "wonderful." His stale spirit soared in ecstasy, and left him
tongue-tied. In vulgar parlance he was rattled to death, this
commonplace little lawyer who for a score of years had dealt cynically
with the loves and lives of the flock of female butterflies who
fluttered annually in and out of the office. Throughout that period he
had sat unemotionally behind his desk and listened in an aloof, cold,
professional manner to the stories of their wrongs as they sobbed or
hissed them forth. Wise little lawyer that he was, he had regarded them
all as just what they were and nothing else--specimens of the Cecropia.
And he had not even patted them upon the shoulder or squeezed their
hands when he had bade them good-by--maintaining always an impersonal
and dignified demeanor.

Therefore he was surprised to hear himself say in soothing, almost
cooing tones:

"Well, my dear, what can I do for you?"

Shades of Abigail! "Well, my dear!" Tutt--Tutt! Tutt!

"I am in great trouble," faltered Mrs. Allison, gazing in misty
he