“This is a miracle!” said a laughing voice, and she looked up into the blue eyes of Dick Gordon. “And now you can tell me what is the difficulty?” he asked as he pulled another chair toward her and sat down. “Difficulty . . . who . . . who said I was in difficulties?” she countered. “Your face is the traitor,” he smiled. “Forgive this attire. I have been to make an official call at the United States Embassy.” She noticed for the first time that he wore the punctilious costume of officialdom, the well-fitting tail-coat, the polished top-hat and regulation cravat. She observed first of all that he looked very well in them, and that he seemed even younger. “I have an idea it is your brother,” he said. “I saw him a few minutes ago—there he is now.” She followed the direction of his eyes, and half rose from her chair in her astonishment. Riding on the tan track which ran parallel to the park road, were a man and a girl. The man was Ray. He was smartly dressed, and from the toes of his polished riding-boots to the crown of his grey hat, was all that was creditable to expensive tailoring. The girl at his side was young, pretty, petite. The riders passed without Ray noticing the interested spectators. He was in his gayest mood, and the sound of his laughter came back to the dumbfounded girl. “But . . . I don’t understand—do you know the lady, Mr. Gordon?” “Very well by repute,” said Dick drily. “Her name is Lola Bassano.” “Is she—a lady?” Dick’s eyes twinkled. “Elk says she’s not, but Elk is prejudiced. She has money and education and breed. Whether or not these three assets are sufficient to constitute a lady, I don’t know. Elk says not, but, as I say, Elk is considerably prejudiced.” She sat silent, her mind in a whirl. “I have an idea that you want help . . . about your brother,” said Dick quietly. “He is frightening you, isn’t he?” She nodded. “I thought so. He is puzzling _me_. I know all about him, his salary and prospects and his queer masquerade under an _alias_. I’m not troubling about that, because boys love those kinds of mysteries. Unfortunately, they are expensive mysteries, and I want to know how he can afford to keep up this suddenly acquired position.” He mentioned a sum and she gasped. “It costs all that,” said Dick. “Elk, who has a passion for exact detail, and who knows to a penny what the riding suit costs, supplied me with particulars.” She interrupted him with such a gesture of despair that he felt a brute. “What can I do . . . what can I do?” she asked. “Everybody wants to help—you, Mr. Johnson, and, I’m sure, Mr. Elk. But he is impossible—Ray, I mean. It will be fighting a feather bed. It may seem absurd to you, so much fuss over Ray’s foolish escapade, but it means, oh, so much to us, father and me!”