Mr. Vyner stole a look at her as she sat sideways by the window. Conscience and his visitor’s manner told him that he ought to go for her father; personal inclination told him that there was no hurry. For the first time in his experience the office became the most desirable place in the world. He wanted to sit still and look at her, and for some time, despite her restlessness, obeyed his inclinations. She turned at last to ask for her father, and in the fraction of a second he was immersed in a bundle of papers. Knitted brows and pursed lips testified to his absorption. He seized a pen and made an endorsement; looked at it with his head on one side and struck it out again. “My father?” said Miss Hartley, in a small but determined voice. Mr. Vyner gazed at her in a preoccupied fashion. Suddenly his face changed. “Good gracious! yes,” he said, springing up and going to the door. “How stupid of me!” He stepped into the corridor and stood reflecting. In some circumstances he could be business-like enough. After reflecting for three minutes he came back into the room. “He will be in soon,” he said, resuming his seat. Inwardly he resolved to go and fetch him later on—when the conversation flagged, for instance. Meantime he took up his papers and shook his head over them. “I wish I had got your father’s head for business,” he said, ruefully. Miss Hartley turned on him a face from which all primness had vanished. The corners of her mouth broke and her eyes grew soft. She smiled at Mr. Vyner, and Mr. Vyner, pluming himself upon his address, smiled back. “If I knew half as much as he does,” he continued, “I’d—I’d——” Miss Hartley waited, her eyes bright with expectation. “I’d,” repeated Mr. Vyner, who had rashly embarked on a sentence before he had seen the end of it, “have a jolly easy time of it,” he concluded, breathlessly. Miss Hartley surveyed him in pained surprise. “I thought my father worked very hard,” she said, with a little reproach in her voice. “So he does,” said the young man, hastily, “but he wouldn’t if he only had my work to do; that’s what I meant. As far as he is concerned he works far too hard. He sets an example that is a trouble to all of us except the office-boy. Do you know Bassett?” Miss Hartley smiled. “My father tells me he is a very good boy,” she said. “A treasure!” said Robert. “’Good’ doesn’t describe Bassett. He is the sort of boy who would get off a ’bus after paying his fare to kick a piece of orange peel off the pavement. He has been nourished on copy-book headings and ’Sanford and Merton.’ Ever read ’Sanford and Merton’?” “I—I tried to once,” said Joan. “There was no ’trying’ with Bassett,” said Mr. Vyner, rather severely. “He took to it as a duck takes to water. By modelling his life on its teaching he won a silver medal for never missing an attendance at school.” “Father has seen it,” said Joan, with a smile.