She heard Edwin cross the room and open a door. Then he seemed to be taking something from a closet. There was clattering and grating, as if canvases were being moved about. “Before I show you these,” he said, “I must ask you to promise to treat this matter as strictly confidential.” “Of course I promise, Mr. Marmaduke,” said her father. “But really I am not competent to judge your work--” Edwin made no oral answer. From the sounds that came to her Grace conjectured that he was lifting and placing one of his paintings on an easel. She wondered which one it was--certainly it could not be her portrait! “Good Lord!” she heard her father say. “Good Lord!” Then came silence. IV Frantic with curiosity, Grace rose from the step and tried to look into the room through the keyhole. The presence of a key made her effort unavailing. She heard the rustle of pictures hastily turned, and her father’s iteration of “Good Lord!” Then Edwin spoke. “Now,” he said, “you see that my work has some practical value, don’t you? You recognise these drawings, don’t you?” “Recognise them!” said Mr. Mallon. “I should say I did. Do you mean to tell me--” “Yes,” said Edwin. “They’re my work, all of them. Watson let the Parker Company handle their campaign, and I’ve done all their high-class work for the past three years.” The Parker Company! Grace dimly remembered hearing that name. Yes, David Watson had said something about the Parker Company. “I don’t sign any of this stuff,” said Edwin, “but it’s all mine. I originated that idea of the fish holding a can in his fin. I make all the ‘Try a Tin To-day’ pictures.” She was at first too stunned to move. Vaguely she heard her father’s laugh, vaguely she heard him congratulating Edwin and inviting him to the house. Then, with a sense of walking in her sleep, she found herself at the foot of the stairs, fumbling at the catch of the street-door. She walked all the way home. But it was a composed and apparently happy young woman who entered the Mallon house an hour later. Her father had already returned, and not even the fact that dinner had been delayed by her tardiness could account for his air of excitement. “Grace,” he said, “I was pleasantly surprised by that young man, that Edwin Marmaduke. He is no mere freak painter--he is a first-class commercial artist. He doesn’t want it known, but--I should never have guessed it, it is a tremendous joke on me--he is the man who originated our ‘Try a Tin To-day’ posters! Did you know that?” “Impossible!” said Grace. “Is dinner ready?” “It’s a fact,” said her father. “He showed me the drawings. Of course, that changes things. I told him to call this evening--how does that strike you?” Grace seemed passionately interested in her grapefruit. She looked steadily at it as she answered.