"What's the matter with the old gentleman this morning?" he complained. "He wants the business to succeed, doesn't he? If he does, he ought to like what Lestrange is doing for it. What's the matter with him?" Emily shook back her yellow curls, turning her gaze on him. "You might guess, Dickie. He is lonely." "Lonely! He!" All the feminine impulse to defend flared up. "Why not?" she exclaimed with passion. "Who has he got? Who stands with him in his house? No wonder he can not bear the man who is hired to do what a Ffrench should be doing. It is not the racing driver he dislikes, but the manager. And do not you blame him, Dick Ffrench." Quite aghast, he stared after her as she turned away to the nearest window. But presently he followed her over, still holding the papers. "Don't you want to read about the race?" he ventured. Smiling, though her lashes were damp, Emily accepted the peace offering. "Yes, please." "You're not angry? You know I'm a stupid chump sometimes; I don't mean it." This time she laughed outright. "No; I am sorry I was cross. It is I who would like to shirk my work. Never mind me; let us read." They did read, seated opposite each other in the broad window-seat and passing the sheets across as they finished them. Dick had not exaggerated, on the contrary he had not said enough. Lestrange and his car were the focus of the hour's attention. The daring, the reckless courage that risked life for victory, the generosity which could throw that victory away to aid a comrade, and lastly the determination and skill which had won the conquest after all--the whole formed a feat too spectacular to escape public hysteria. It was very doubtful indeed whether Lestrange liked his idolizing, but there was no escape. The two who read were young. "It was a splendid fight," sighed Dick, when they dropped the last page. "Yes," Emily assented. "When he comes back, when you see him, give him my congratulations." "When I see him? Why don't you tell him yourself?" Something like a white shadow wiped the scarlet of excitement from her cheeks, as she averted her face. "I shall not see him; I shall not go to the factory any more. It will be better, I am sure." Vaguely puzzled and dismayed, Dick sat looking at her, not daring to question. Emily kept her word during the weeks that followed. Through Dick and Bailey she heard of factory affairs; of the sudden increase of orders for the Mercury automobiles, the added prestige gained, and the public favor bestowed on the car. But she saw nothing of the man who was responsible for all this. Instead she went out more than ever before. Their social circle was too painfully exclusive to be large or gay.