She smiled up at him--a proceeding which was generally sufficient to throw Bones into a pitiful condition of incoherence. But this morning it had only the effect of making him close his eyes as though to shut out a vision too radiant to be borne. "Aren't you well, Mr. Tibbetts?" she asked quickly and anxiously. "It's nothing, dear old miss," said Bones, passing a weary and hypocritical hand across his brow. "Just a fit of the jolly old staggers. The fact is, I've been keeping late hours--in fact, dear young miss," he said huskily, "I have been engaged in a wicked old pursuit--yes, positively naughty...." "Oh, Mr. Tibbetts"--she was truly shocked--"I'm awfully sorry! You really shouldn't drink--you're so young...." "Drink!" said the hurt and astounded Bones. "Dear old slanderer! Poetry!" He had written sufficient poetry to make a volume--poems which abounded in such rhymes as "Marguerite," "Dainty feet," "Sweet," "Hard to beat," and the like. But this she did not know. By this time the girl was not only accustomed to these periodical embarrassments of Bones, but had acquired the knack of switching the conversation to the main line of business. "There's a letter from Mr. de Vinne," she said. Bones rubbed his nose and said, "Oh!" Mr. de Vinne was on his mind rather than on his conscience, for Mr. de Vinne was very angry with Bones, who, as he had said, had "niped" in and had cost Mr. de Vinne L17,500. "It is not a nice letter," suggested the girl. "Let me see, dear young head-turner," said Bones firmly. The letter called him "Sir," and went on to speak of the writer's years of experience as a merchant of the City of London, in all of which, said the writer, he had never heard of conduct approaching in infamy that of Augustus Tibbetts, Esquire. "It has been brought to my recollection" (wrote the infuriated Mr. de Vinne) "that on the day you made your purchase of Browns, I dined at the Kingsway Restaurant, and that you occupied a table immediately behind me. I can only suppose that you overheard a _perfectly confidential_" (heavily underscored) "conversation between myself and a fellow-director, and utilised the information thus _disgracefully_ acquired." "Never talk at meals, dear old typewriter," murmured Bones. "Awfully bad for your jolly young tum--for your indigestion, dear young keytapper." The letter went on to express the writer's intention of taking vengeance for the "dishonest squeeze" of which he had been the victim. Bones looked at his secretary anxiously. The censure of Mr. de Vinne affected him not at all. The possible disapproval of this lady filled him with dire apprehension. "It's not a nice letter," said the girl. "Do you want me to answer it?" "Do I want you to answer it?" repeated Bones, taking courage. "Of course I want you to answer it, my dear old paper-stainer and decorator. Take these words." He paced the room with a terrible frown. "Dear old thing," he began.