“There is something behind this,” repeated Mrs. Hammond weightily. “It stands to reason. Even a boy like this young Shotter would not take a house next door to Mr. Wrenn the moment he landed unless he had some motive. George, there is a girl at the bottom of this.” Lord Tilbury underwent a sort of minor convulsion. His eyes bulged and he grasped the arms of his chair. “Good God, Francie! Don’t say that! Pynsent took me aside before I left and warned me most emphatically to be careful how I allowed this boy to come in contact with--er--members of the opposite sex.” “Girls,” said Mrs. Hammond. “Yes, girls,” said Lord Tilbury, as if pleasantly surprised at this neat way of putting it. “He said he had had trouble a year or so ago----” “Mr. Wrenn must have a daughter,” said Mrs. Hammond, pursuing her train of thought. “Has Mr. Wrenn a daughter?” “How the devil should I know?” demanded His Lordship, not unnaturally irritated. “I don’t keep in touch with the home life of every man in this building.” “Ring him up and ask him.” “I won’t. I don’t want my staff to think I’ve gone off my head. Besides, you may be quite wrong.” “I shall be extremely surprised if I am,” said Mrs. Hammond. Lord Tilbury sat gazing at her pallidly. He knew that Francie had a sixth sense in these matters. § 3 At about the moment when Sam entered the luxuriously furnished office of the Mammoth Publishing Company’s proprietor and chief, in a smaller and less ornate room in the same building Mr. Matthew Wrenn, all unconscious of the good fortune about to descend upon him in the shape of the addition to his staff of a live and go-ahead young assistant, was seated at his desk, busily engaged in promoting the best interests of that widely read weekly, Pyke’s _Home Companion_. He was, in fact, correcting the proofs of an article--ably written, but too long to quote here--entitled What a Young Girl Can Do in Her Spare Time; Number 3, Bee Keeping. He was interrupted in this task by the opening of the door, and looking up, was surprised to see his niece, Kay Derrick. “Why, Kay!” said Mr. Wrenn. She had never visited him at his office so early as this, for Mrs. Winnington-Bates expected her serfs to remain on duty till at least four o’clock. In her blue eyes, moreover, there was a strange glitter that made him subtly uneasy. “Why, Kay, what are you doing here?” Kay sat down on the desk. Having ruffled his grizzled hair with an affectionate hand, she remained for a while in silent meditation. “I hate young men!” she observed at length. “Why isn’t everyone nice and old--I mean elderly, but frightfully well preserved, like you, darling?” “Is anything the matter?” asked Mr. Wrenn anxiously. “Nothing much. I’ve left Mrs. Bates.” “I’m very glad to hear it, my dear. There is no earthly reason why you should have to waste your time slaving----”