She knew that Mr. Joseph Bell was at home, for she had seen him, an hour earlier, training vines over the front porch. She understood that Peter had remained for late work at the factory office, as he so often did, although it was now nearly nine o’clock. And she knew well that it would never do for Peter’s father to go down to the burning building--the excitement of a great fire at his own place of business would be the worst thing in the world for him. Mr. Joseph Bell had kept steadily on at his work throughout the year, and nothing that Peter had feared had happened. It had been arranged somehow so that the most fatiguing part of his duties now came upon the broad shoulders of the son instead of the bent ones of the father. But it was as necessary as ever that there should be no sudden strain, either physical or mental, and it was this which she now must prevent. Brant Hille, waiting impatiently outside, saw Shirley fly back to him, and looked up at her with gratification. But her first words made him sit up, for she spoke in haste: "Brant, is your car ready for a start?" "Always is. Want to----" "Will you get it--quick? The Armstrong paper-factory is on fire. Mr. Bell mustn’t know it. I can’t stop to explain. I must get him away where he won’t hear. I ’ll go ask him and Mrs. Bell to take a drive with us--out to the farm, perhaps. I ’ll run over. You drive round there--will you?" "Why on earth should n’t he know? He----" "Oh, don’t stop to talk about it. I ’ll tell you afterward. The general alarm may go in any minute, and somebody will telephone him if he’s at the house. Quick--please!" Of course Brant did not understand, but Shirley’s manner was not to be taken lightly. Even as she spoke she left him and ran indoors again. Well, if he could serve her, it would be better than having to sit beside her in silence while she thought about technical French phrases. Besides, he was an enthusiastic motorist, and a hurry call for the car always gave him more or less pleasure. He bolted across the lawn, through the hedge by a short cut to the street, and so to his own home, on the farther side of Worthington Square. Shirley hurried across Gay Street, having stopped only to pick up a long coat and scarf. She caught sight of Mrs. Bell’s light skirt at the edge of the vine-screen of the porch. "Isn’t it a perfect night?" Mrs. Bell heard a familiar, clear-toned voice ask. "Don’t you and Mr. Bell want to take a gentle little spin down Northboro road in Mr. Hille’s car? He ’s asked me out, and given me leave to invite whomever I want. I ’d love to have you."