“Wait a minute. Don’t go! Please don’t!” But Lucy had passed through the door. When she returned from her outing it was nearly sunset. The rain was over and a dim, yellow-green light shone on everything. Nannie met her in the hall. “Now, Lucy,” Mrs. Merwent’s voice was reproachful, “you are going to be sick for all this.” “On the contrary, I feel much better.” Lucy’s appearance supported her assertion. “Well, change your clothes at any rate,” Nannie advised. “I think I will put on dry shoes and stockings,” agreed Lucy. * * * * * It was almost time to close the office, on the same evening, when there was a knock at the outer door and it was slightly opened. “Come in,” John called. He was alone, Jim having left him to keep an engagement with the firm of Layard’s in the next street. Miss Storms walked into the room. “Well, John, I see you are alone,” she observed, hesitating just inside the door. “Good evening, Miss Storms. Won’t you sit down?” he answered distantly, rising and making a motion toward the coat which he had removed some time before. “Don’t bother about that coat. I shan’t stay,” she interrupted, smiling kindly. But John put on the coat. “Ellen and Arthur are leaving in the morning. They had hoped Lucy would be in today--though she said yesterday that she didn’t think it would be possible.” Miss Storms paused. “As there seems to be no way for them to communicate with her----” she paused again with significant emphasis, raising her eyebrows but continuing to smile in the same manner, “I have brought this parcel from them. It is for Dimmie. His grandfather promised him a watch.” John did not speak at once and the two stared at one another. His face grew red and sullen under the enigmatic inquiry of her expression. She laid the parcel on the desk. Still John said nothing. “If it is possible for Lucy to get in in the morning----” she began again. “Lucy is sick in bed,” John informed her shortly. “Oh! I’m sorry. Poor child! What is----it isn’t anything serious, is it?” “No. Only an attack of nerves.” Miss Storms continued to gaze at John, and he partially averted his face, fingering some papers on the desk beside him. “John,” interrogated Miss Storms, making a step forward, “isn’t there anything to be done?” He glanced up quickly and his hand on the paper shook. “No,” he said, looking at Miss Storms almost defiantly, “I don’t see that there is. Not so long as Mr. Merwent and--his wife insist on thrusting their attention where it’s not wanted.” “Oh?” Miss Storms lifted her eyebrows again and bit her lip. She continued to regard John with an expression that was a mixture of rather bitter humor and bafflement. “Perhaps you’d rather not deliver my message?” John frowned slightly. “I’ll deliver it, Miss Storms. I’m not the one to settle Lucy’s attitude toward her father.”