"Don't be a silly Guardy. I'm not a man-eating tiger or tigress, or the Great American Puma--or pumess. Don't you think 'pumess' is a nice lady-word, Guardy?" "Did you dance with Will Douglas?" catechised the grizzled doctor, declining to be shunted off on a philological discussion. Next to acting as legal major domo to E.M. Pierce, Douglas's most important function in life was apparently to fetch and carry for the reigning belle of Worthington. His devotion to Esme Elliot had become stock gossip of the town, since three seasons previous. "Almost half as often as he asked me," said the girl. "That was eight times, I think." "Nice boy, Will." "Boy!" There was a world of expressiveness in the monosyllable. "Not a day over forty," observed the uncle. "And you are twenty-two. Not that you look it"--judicially--"like thirty-five, after all this dissipation." Esme rose from her seat, walked with great dignity past her guardian, and suddenly whirling, pounced upon his ear. "Do I? Do I?" she cried. "Do I look thirty-five? Quick! Take it back." "Ouch! Oh! No. Not more'n thirty. Oo! All right; twenty-five, then. Fifteen! Three!!!" She kissed the assaulted ear, and pirouetted over to the broad window-seat, looking in her simple morning gown like a school-girl. "Wonder how you do it," grumbled Dr. Elliot. "Up all night roistering like a sophomore--" "I was in bed at three." "Down next morning, fresh as a--a--" "Rose," she supplied tritely. "--cake o' soap," concluded her uncle. "Now, as for you and Will Douglas, as between Will's forty--" "Marked down from forty-five," she interjected. "And your twenty-two--" "Looking like thirty-something." "Never mind," said Dr. Elliot in martyred tones. "_I_ don't want to finish _any_ sentence. Why should I? Got a niece to do it for me." "Nobody wants you to finish that one. You're a matchmaking old maid," declared Esme, wrinkling her delicate nose at him, "and if you're ever put up for our sewing-circle I shall blackball you. Gossip!" "Oh, if I wanted to gossip, I'd begin to hint about the name of Surtaine." The girl's color did not change. "As other people have evidently been doing to you." "A little. Did you dance with him last night?" "He wasn't there. He's working very hard on his newspaper." "You seem to know a good deal about it." "Naturally, since I've bought into the paper myself. I believe that's the proper business phrase, isn't it?" "Bought in? What do you mean? You haven't been making investments without my advice?" "Don't worry, Guardy, dear. It isn't strictly a business transaction. I've been--ahem--establishing a sphere of influence." "Over Harrington Surtaine?" "Over his newspaper." "Look here, Esme! How serious is this Surtaine matter?" Dr. Elliot's tone had a distinct suggestion of concern. "For me? Not serious at all." "But for him?"