Mrs. Wellington did not glance at the mass of matter. With a muttered "Thank you," she gazed thoughtfully at the row of white push buttons inlaid at her elbow. There were more than a dozen of them and they ranged from the pantry to the kitchen, from the garage to the stable. By means of them the mistress of The Crags kept in touch with nearly fifty servants. Here at her desk she could plan her campaigns, lay counter mine against mine, plan stratagems, and devise ideas. Her superiority over those who sought, or had sought in the past, to rival her lay in the fact that she could devise, outline, and execute her projects without assistance. A former secretary with some degree of literary talent had, upon dismissal, written up that office and its genius for a Sunday newspaper, and several hundred thousand good people, upon reading it, had marvelled at the tremendous means employed to such trivial ends. But after all, who shall say what is trivial in this world and what is not? Let it rest with the assertion that in any other sphere, business, sociology, charity, Belle Wellington's genius would have carried her as far as in that domain wherein she had set her endeavors. As to charity, for that matter, she had given a mountain recluse, a physician, five hundred thousand dollars with which to found a tuberculosis sanitarium, and--but those were things which not even her friends knew and concerning which, therefore, we should remain silent. Slowly she leaned forward and pressed a button. Mrs. Stetson, the housekeeper, soon appeared. "Good-morning, Mrs. Stetson," she said. "Prince Koltsoff seems to have anticipated us." She suddenly remembered she had utilized her daughter's expression, and bit her lips. "When did he arrive?" "He came last night in the French ambassador's carriage." "Last night!" Mrs. Wellington glanced at her secretary. "Will you bring my engagement book, please." This in hand, she turned the pages hastily, then put it down. "There has been some mistake. He was not to come to us until luncheon to-day. Was M. Renaud with him?" "Yes, Mrs. Wellington, but he did not stay. The Prince seemed to know he was not expected. He apologized profusely, but said that events had brought him here a day early and trusted there was no inconvenience. He did not dine, but spent the evening in the smoking-room, writing. He sent two cable despatches by Parker." "Um-m, _degage_, even for a Russian," said Mrs. Wellington. "And he arose early?" "Very early. He asked Mr. Dawson for a car to go to the village at half after six." Mrs. Wellington almost revealed her intense interest. "Ah, to the village," she said. "Did he say--did he explain the reasons for his early trip?" "No, but Parker told Mr. Dawson he stopped at the telegraph office." "Where is the Prince now?" "He is in the morning-room, writing." "Thank you, Mrs. Stetson." As the housekeeper left, Mrs. Wellington pressed another button, summoning the superintendent.