A week or so went by, during which Enoch made no attempt to see Diana or to hear from her. The office routine ground on and on. The Mexican cloud thickened. Alaska developed a threatening attitude over her coal fields. The farmers of Idaho suddenly withdrew their proposals regarding water power. Calmly and with clear vision, Enoch met each day's problems. But the lines about his mouth deepened. One day, early in August, Charley Abbott came to the Secretary's desk. "Miss Diana Allen would like to see you for a few moments, Mr. Secretary." Enoch did not look up. "Ask her to excuse me, Mr. Abbott, I am very busy." Charley hesitated for an instant, then went quickly out. "Luncheon is served, boss," said Jonas, shortly after. "Is Abbott gone?" asked Enoch. "Yes, sir! He's took that Miss Allen to lunch, I guess. He's sure gone on that young lady. How come everybody thinks she's so beautiful, boss?" "Because she is beautiful, Jonas, very, very beautiful." The faithful steward looked keenly at the Secretary. He had not missed the appearance of a line in the face that was the whole world to him. "Boss," he said, "don't you ever think you ought to marry?" Enoch looked up into Jonas' face. "A man with my particular history had best leave women alone, Jonas." Jonas' mouth twitched. "They ain't the woman ever born fit to darn your socks, boss." Enoch smiled and finished his lunch in silence. He would have given a month of his life to know what errand had brought Diana to his office. But Charley Abbott, returning at two o'clock with the complacent look of a man who has lunched with a beautiful girl, showed no intention of mentioning the girl's name. And Enoch went on with his conferences. But it was many days before he opened the black book again. Diana's exhibition must have been of unusual quality, for jaded and cynical Washington learned of its existence, spoke of it and went to see it. It seemed to Enoch that every one he met took special delight in mentioning it to him. Even Jonas, one night, as he brought in the bed-time pitcher of ice water, said, "Boss, I saw Miss Allen's pictures this evening. They sure are queersome. That must be hotter'n Washington out there. How come you ain't been, Boss?" "How do you know I haven't seen them, Jonas?" asked Enoch quickly. "Don't I know every place you go, boss? Didn't you tell me that was my job, years ago? How come you think I'd forget?" Jonas was eyeing the Secretary warily. "Mr. Abbott, he's got a bad case on that Miss Allen. He's give me at least a dollar's worth of ten cent cigars lately so's I'll stand and smoke and let him talk to me about her." Enoch grunted. "He says she--" Jonas rambled on. Enoch looked up quickly. "I don't want to hear it, Jonas." Jonas drew himself up stiffly. The Secretary laid his own broad palm over the black hand that still held the handle of the water pitcher. "Spare me that, old friend," he said.