As she shot up the elevator, she thought of a hitherto forgotten element of that afternoon's bewildering situation. Barney Palmer! And Barney was, she knew, now up in her sitting-room, impatiently waiting for her report of what he had good reason to believe would prove a successful experience. If she told the truth--that Dick had proposed, just as they had planned for him to do--and she had refused him--why, Barney--! She seemed caught on every side! Maggie got into her suite by way of her bedroom. She wanted time to gather her wits for meeting Barney. When Miss Grierson told her that her cousin was still waiting to take her to dinner, she requested her companion to inform Barney that she would be in as soon as she had dressed. She wasted all the time she legitimately could in changing into a dinner-gown, and when at length she stepped into her sitting-room she was to Barney's eye the same cool Maggie as always. Barney rose as she entered. He was in smart dinner jacket; these days Barney was wearing the smartest of everything that money could secure. There was a shadow of impatience on his face, but it was instantly dissipated by Maggie's self-composed, direct-eyed beauty. “How'd you come out with Miss Sherwood?” he whispered eagerly. “Well enough for her to kiss me good-bye, and beg me to come again.” “I've got to hand it to you, Maggie! You're sure some swell actress--you've sure got class!” His dark eyes gleamed on her with half a dozen pleasures: admiration of what she was in herself--admiration of what she had just achieved--anticipation of results, many results--anticipation of what she was later to mean to him in a personal way. “If you can put it over on a swell like Miss Sherwood, you can put it over on any one!” He exulted. “As soon as we clean up this job in hand, we'll move on to one big thing after another!” And then out came the question Maggie had been bracing herself for: “How about Dick Sherwood? Did he finally come across with that proposal?” “No,” Maggie answered steadily. “No? Why not?” exclaimed Barney sharply. “I thought that was all that was holding him back--waiting for his sister to look you over and give you her O.K.?” Maggie had decided that her air of cool, indifferent certainty was the best manner to use in this situation with Barney. So she shrugged her white shoulders. “How can I tell what makes a man do something, and what makes him not do it?” “But did he seem any less interested in you than before?” Barney pursued. “No,” replied Maggie. “Then maybe he's just waiting to get up his nerve. He'll ask you, all right; nothing there for us to worry about. Come on, let's have dinner. I'm starved.”