“Just wait a second.” Miss Storms touched his sleeve with her gloved fingers. “It isn’t just that Lucy’s mother thinks I’ve aided and abetted Ellen Low in stealing her husband. The trouble is that I’m not a man.” Jim’s smile was wry. “Being a man wouldn’t help you any, Miss Storms.” He fumbled a tassel on the window curtain at his side. “I’ve tried to help Lucy all I could--and John,” he added. Miss Storms scrutinized him with kindly eyes. He grew red to his hair. “You poor boy!” she said at length, squeezing his hand. “Do you know, I’m inclined to fall in love with you myself.” “Miss Storms,” he stammered, “that is--I’m afraid you don’t----” “I’m afraid I do.” She contradicted him affectionately, releasing him and turning to the window. “Do you want to smoke?” she resumed abruptly. “I’m afraid I’ll contaminate your cushions and curtains,” he objected. “I wish they never had anything worse than you and your pipe around them!” Her expression was whimsical. Jim lit his pipe. “You’re a bad strategist, Jim,” she went on. “What is needed is attack and not defence. And Jim,” she laid her hand on his arm again, “we must save things _as they are_.” “I understand.” He nodded. “You needn’t be afraid of me now.” He did not see the pity in her eyes at the “now.” “I don’t know what more I can do--either good or harm,” he supplemented. “You can do everything--nearly.” “I don’t see what you mean, Miss Storms.” The ironical lines about her mouth deepened. “Nobody sees,” she retorted almost impatiently. “That’s just it. Jim, I want you to memorize something. It may do you good.” “What is it?” Jim looked puzzled. Miss Storms held up one finger as though speaking to a child, and repeated gravely, “Three blind mice, See how they run. They all run after the farmer’s wife. She cut off their tails with a carving knife. Did you ever see such fools in your life, As three blind mice?” Jim regarded her with a curious expression. “That’s it,” she ended. “There’s nothing more that could be said.” “We’re blind mice, all right,” Jim remarked without spirit, as if to himself. “Poor boy!” Miss Storms spoke simply, almost with tenderness. “She’s cut more than our tails off,” he growled huskily. Miss Storms laid her hand softly on his. “Miss Storms, if you’ll tell me what to do, I’ll do it.” His voice had a new note. “A flank movement is the best, Jim. You must tell Lucy’s mother that you are going to Russellville and will see the Professor Walsh she is going to marry.” “Oh!” There was understanding and admiration in Jim’s voice. “You might mention Minnie Sheldon, too, and I’ll find out a few more from some old letters of Ellen Low’s I have. As I told you, I am helpless on account of Ellen and Arthur Merwent. Anything I might do would make things worse, but you are exactly in the position to succeed, Jim, and it will be easy.” “I wonder where Lucy’s mother could go,” he mused.