Her lips parted expectantly.

"Your father has promised to give me a chance on his coffee plantations

in Brazil this autumn, and I wish to show him that I know how to grind.

Plug, isn't that the American for it?" He smiled across the desk. "I

wish to prove to you all that I am grateful. Your father, who knows

something of men, says there is one hidden away in me somewhere, if

only I'll take the trouble to dig it out. I should like to be with you

and your guests all the time. I like play, and I have been very lonely

all my life." He fingered the papers irresolutely. "My place is here,

not with your guests; there's the width of the poles between us. I

Advertisement..

ought not to know anything about the pleasures of idleness till the day

comes when I can afford to."

"Perhaps you are right," she admitted. What an agreeable voice he had!

Perhaps neither of them was a rogue; only a wild pair of Englishmen

embarked on a dangerous frolic. "Don't forget to give Lord Monckton

his monocle."

"I shan't."

Kitty departed, smiling. Her thought was: he had kissed her and hadn't

wanted to! (Ah, but he had; and not till long hours after did he

realize that there had been as much Thomas as Machiavelli in that

futile inspiration!) Report 47, on the difference between the shipments to Europe and

America. Very dry, very dull; what with the glorious sunshine outside

and the chance to play, Report 47 was damnable. A bird-like peck at

the inkwell, and the pen began to scratch-scratch-scratch. He was

twenty-four; by the time he was thirty he ought to . . .

"Beg pardon, sir!"

Lord Monckton's valet stood before the desk. Thomas did not like this

man, with his soundless approaches, his thin nervous fingers, his

brilliant roving eyes. Where had he been picked up? A perfect

servant, yes; but it seemed to Thomas that the man was always expecting

some one to come up behind him. Those quick cat-like glances over his

shoulder were not reassuring. Dark, swarthy; and yet that odd white

scar in the scalp above his ear. That ought to have been dark,

logically.

"What is it?"

"Lord Monckton has dropped his glass somewhere, sir, and he sent me to

inquire, sir."

"Oh, here it is. And tell your master to be very careful of it. Some

one might step on it."

"Thank you, sir." The valet departed as noiselessly as he had entered.

"Really," mused Thomas, "there's a rum chap. I don't like him around.

He gives me the what-d'-y'-call-it."

They needed an extra man at the table that night, so Thomas came down.

He found himself between two jolly young women, opposite Kitty who

divided her time between Lord Monckton and a young millionaire who,

rumor bruited it, was very attentive to Killigrew's daughter. Still,

Thomas enjoyed himself. Nobody seemed to mind that he was only a clerk

in the house. The simpleton did not realize that he was a personage to

these people; an English private secretary, quite a social stroke on

the part of the Killigrews.




Most Popular