One morning I did not leave my hotel room for breakfast. I had not the courage to face the thin-lipped manager. I sat facing the uninviting court yard, pondering my next move, when the telephone rang suddenly. “Where in the world have you been?” the harsh, trilling voice of Mrs. Breese demanded, without any preliminary explanation. “I had the most awful time trying to get hold of you. They wouldn’t give me your address at your office. Are you in hiding?” I muttered some lie or other about having been ill. But she obviously was not interested in that. “Don’t you know we’re sailing tomorrow? I’m sending Pierre down for your luggage.” I tried to say something, but she continued relentlessly: “Now, it’s no use your saying you can’t come. You’ve simply got to! I need you. Now will you come up here at once? There are a million things I’ve got to talk to you about. And do have your luggage ready. Pierre has just started out.” This woman who took things for granted hung up without waiting for further word from me. I was in no situation to protest in any case. So I descended at once to the manager and informed him with an off-hand gesture that I had consented to accept a fabulous salary as publicity engineer to a wealthy lady, and consumed on credit a hearty breakfast. I must have been convincing for I left the hotel with five dollars borrowed from the manager and rode up to the Park Avenue ménage in one of those new and immaculate black and white taxis. After weeks of uncertainty the sense of well-being was rather pleasant. And when I appeared before Mrs. Breese she smiled at me and said: “I knew I could rely on you. I haven’t much time, and neither have you. I want you to tell the newspapers that we’re sailing tomorrow on the _Mary Rose_. “I’ll give you a list of the guests: Mrs. Henry Breese, Sr. and her two children, Henry Breese, Jr., and the Countess Giering-Trelovitch. Please don’t forget the hyphen. Newspapers are so careless. The children have been upset by all this trial and a rest will do them good. Then Mr. Rice--Mr. Gordon Rice--has consented to come along. Mr. Rice, you know, is managing my affairs. You’ve met him, but you don’t really know him. He’s a friend--a true friend. I don’t know what I should have done without him. You know he was Henry’s friend when I first met him. But he didn’t let that stand in the way of telling the truth. And now that I’ve got my affairs to manage he is taking them off my hands. Just think of it! A man whose time is so valuable giving up weeks and weeks just for me! That sort of friendship gives me strength to go on!” She spoke as if the world had done her a great wrong, and Rice was her only bulwark. “Then I’ve asked Guy Thomas.” She paused for effect and I looked up at her.