“My leanings toward them in no way implies their leanings toward me,” returned the bachelor, his eyes twinkling. “And, moreover, a regard for one of the fair sex that would imply a thought of marriage with her, would be another matter entirely from a liking for the little stars of the chorus. To me they are not even individuals, they are merely necessary parts of an entertaining picture. I care no more for them, personally, than for the orchestra that makes music for their dancing feet, or for the stage manager who produces the setting for their engaging gracefulness.” “That’s so, Uncle,” Bates agreed; “you’re a stage Johnny, all right, but you’re no Lothario.” “Thank you, Son, such discriminating praise from Sir Hubert Stanley, makes me more than ever regret not having his association in my business affairs.” “Don’t be too sure that you won’t have him,” Miss Prall temporized; “when does his time for decision expire?” “To-night,” said Sir Herbert, briefly, and at that, with a gesture of bored impatience, Bates got up and went out. CHAPTER II A Tricky Game The Prall apartment was on the eighth floor, but Richard Bates passed by the elevator and went down the stairs. Only one flight, however, and on the seventh floor, he walked along the hall, whistling in a subdued key. The air was an old song, a one-time favorite, “Won’t you come out and play wiz me?” and the faint notes grew stronger as he passed a certain door. Then he went on, but soon turned, retraced his steps, and went up again the one flight of stairs. Pausing at the elevator, he pushed the down button and was soon in the car and smiling on the demure young woman in uniform who ran it. “This car of yours, Daisy,” he remarked, “is like the church of Saint Peter at Rome, it has an atmosphere of its own. But if the church had this atmosphere there’d be mighty few worshipers! How can you stand it? Doesn’t it make you ill?” “Ill?” and the girl rolled weary eyes at him; “I’m dead! You can bring the flowers when you’re ready, Gridley!” “Poor child,” and Bates looked compassionately at the white face, that even a vanity case failed to keep in blooming condition, so moisty warm was the stuffy elevator. “It’s wicked to shut you up in such a cage——” “Oh, I’m all right,” she responded, hurriedly, as her bell sounded a sharp, impatient ring. “I’m not complaining. But people are so trying on a day like this. That’s Mr Binney’s ring.” “How do you know. Do you know everybody’s touch?” “Not everybody’s,—but lots of them. Mr Binney, he hates elevator girls——” “Oh, come now,—my uncle is a great admirer of all women——” “Not if they work. He talks a good deal, you know,—talks all the time,—and he’s everlastingly knocking girls who do the work he thinks men ought to do.” “But it’s none of his business,—in this house!” “Mr Binney is particularly and especially interested in what’s none of his business!” The girl spoke so bitterly that Bates looked at her in surprise.