“I forgot that you’ve never seen her. Well, last night after you left I stopped to look in on her, and, honestly, her beauty startled me. She’s beautiful thick chestnut hair and fine grey eyes, and the loveliest mouth--its expression is charming!--and really, Mike, her arms and hands are delicate enough for a Psyche. Maybe she milked and fed ducks, but I can’t see any of the hick about her----” He smiled, made one of his characteristic, graceful gestures: “It’s funny, but there she is. And yet, I’d not venture to use her in a story ‘as is.’ Because my wise guys wouldn’t believe in her. I’d be damned as a romanticist. And you’d chuck me out of the Sunday Edition.” Coltfoot sat gazing up at him for a few moments, then put on his reading-spectacles and pawed at a wad of proof. “I’m going to chuck you out of this office anyway,” he grunted. * * * * * Exactly why Annan chose to lunch at home did not occur to him until, arriving there, Mrs. Sniffen handed him a note and announced the departure of Eris Odell. “What!” he said irritably, “has she gone?” “About eleven, Mr. Barry. And would you believe that child would ask me to take five dollars for making her bed? And she with scarce a penny. What’s one ’undred and twenty dollars in New York? I could ha’ birched her----” “Give me the note,” he interrupted, disappointed. Because that was why he had come home to lunch,--to see this youngster who had so ungratefully and rudely departed. He went upstairs to his room, seated himself, slit the envelope with a paper cutter, and leisurely but sulkily unfolded the sheet of note paper within. A hundred-dollar bank note fell to the floor. “Dear Friend,” he read,--a rural form of address that always annoyed Annan,--“please do not be offended if I leave without awaiting your return. Because I feel keenly that I ought not to impose upon your great kindness any longer. “I am at a loss to express my gratitude. Your goodness has stirred my deepest sensibilities and has imprinted upon my innermost mind a sense of obligation never to be forgotten. “I shall always marvel that so well known and successful a man could find time to trouble himself with the personal embarrassment of an insignificant stranger. “What you have done for me is so wonderful that I can only feel it but cannot formulate my feeling in words. “And thank you for the hundred dollars. But please, _please_ understand that I could not keep it. “Confident in the promise of Miss Blythe, I shall venture to take the room that sometimes I have taken for a single night. It is at 696 Jane Street. “So good-bye--unless you ever would care to see me again--and thank you with a heart very full, dear Mr. Annan. “Yours sincerely, “ERIS.” CHAPTER XI