Jimmy noticed that there was nothing on Mr. Wentworth’s desk except ink-well, pens, and blotter; not the slightest sign of any big business to be attended to—and yet he knew Mr. Wentworth was the biggest, most important man in the business world he had ever seen in his life. He could not understand this fact; later he found out that the higher up an executive is, the less he allows to accumulate on his desk and the more leisure time he seems to have. “What is your business, Mr. Rand?” The president seemed slightly surprised at his visitor’s continued silence. Jimmy drew a long breath. He felt infinitely small, insignificant. The luxurious office seemed suddenly very vast, with great empty spaces all around. He trembled at the thought of hearing his own voice in it. But he knew he must speak—must say something. This was his big chance. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak the words that trembled on his lips the door of the office opened unceremoniously and a young lady swept into the room. She was a girl about Jimmy’s own age—a very pretty girl with blond hair, and blue eyes. She was more expensively dressed than Jimmy had ever seen a girl dressed before—except on the stage, perhaps—in big, flowing furs, a soft, sweeping, broad-brimmed hat, and with a huge bunch of violets at her waist. She carried herself with the air of a princess; and Jimmy felt suddenly abashed at being in her presence. As she came in the young lady nodded briefly to Mr. Hope, who smiled at her easily yet with considerable deference. The president greeted her with a little frown of annoyance. “I’m busy now, Estelle,” he said mildly, rising from his chair to face her. Jimmy stood up also, which he felt somehow was the right thing to do. The young lady evidently had no intention of withdrawing. She looked Jimmy up and down from head to foot calmly, and then said to her father: “Very well. Ill wait for you.” Then she turned away, and, drawing up a little chair near the filing-cabinet, entered into a low-toned conversation with Mr. Hope. The president sighed hopelessly. For one brief instant he seemed undecided. Then he frowned. “I— Tell your business to my secretary,” he said abruptly to Jimmy, waving his hand in dismissal. “He’ll take care of it for you. Oh, Mr. Hope—if you please. Will you see this young man in your office? Thank you. Good day, Mr. Rand.” Jimmy stood stock-still. He could feel himself flushing. A sudden hot resentment toward this girl—this intruder—possessed him—that she should have come into the room, at this of all times, just when he had been given his big chance. And now she had spoiled it all! “This way, Mr. Rand”—the secretary was standing by his side—“I’ll see you now.” Jimmy nodded confusedly. Mr. Wentworth inclined his head also, and then turned aside to speak to his daughter. And Jimmy, not having spoken a word since he entered the president’s office, turned and followed Mr. Leffingwell Hope through the opened door.