"Yes," said John Dene, without looking up. "You're coming out to have some dinner." "I'm afraid I can't, thank you," she said. "My mother is waiting." "Oh shucks!" he cried, looking up quickly. "But it isn't!" she said wearily. "Isn't what?" demanded John Dene. "Shucks!" she said; then, seeing the absurdity of the thing, she laughed. "We'll send your mother an express message or a wire. You look dead beat." He smiled and Dorothy capitulated. It would be nice, she told herself, not to have to go all the way to Chiswick before having anything to eat. "But where are you taking me, Mr. Dene?" enquired Dorothy, as they turned from Waterloo Place into Pall Mall. "To the Ritzton." "But I'm--I'm----" she stopped dead. "What's wrong?" he demanded, looking at her in surprise. "I--I can't go there," she stammered. "I'm not dressed for----" She broke off lamely. "That'll be all right," he said. "It's my hotel." "It may be your hotel," said Dorothy, resuming the walk, "but I don't care to go there in a blouse and a skirt to be stared at." "Who'll stare at you?" "Not at me, at my clothes," she corrected. "Then we'll go to the grill-room," he replied with inspiration. "That might be----" She hesitated. "You're not going home until you have something to eat," he announced with determination. "You look all used up," he added. Dorothy submitted to the inevitable, conscious of a feeling of content at having someone to decide things for her. Suddenly she remembered Marjorie Rogers' remarks. What was she doing? If any of the girls saw her they would---- She had done the usual thing, sent a telegram to her mother to say she should be late, and was dining out with her chief on the first day---- Oh! it was horrible. "Would you--would you?"--she turned to John Dene appealingly,--"would you mind if I went home," she faltered. "I'm not feeling--very well." She gulped out the last words conscious of the lie. "Why sure," he said solicitously. "I'm sorry." To her infinite relief he hailed a taxi. "I'll come along and see you safe," he announced in a matter-of-fact tone. "Oh, please no," she cried, "I'd much sooner----" She broke off distressed. Without a word he handed her into the taxi. "Where am I to tell him?" he enquired. "Douglas Mansions, Chiswick, please," gasped Dorothy, and she sank back in the taxi with a feeling that she had behaved very ridiculously. CHAPTER V JOHN DENE LEAVES WHITEHALL I "Come," shouted John Dene irritably. The door opened and Mr. Blair entered. John Dene swung round from his table and glared at him angrily. "I tried to telephone," began Mr. Blair. "Well, you can't," snapped John Dene, "receiver's off. Your boys have been playing dido all morning on my 'phone." "I'm sorry if----" "That don't help any. Why don't you stop 'em? Seem to think I'm a sort of enquiry bureau."