"Oh, perfectly!" Laurie sighed. "Of course you're a crowned head," he mused aloud. "I had forgotten. Would you like my head on a charger, or anything like that?" She studied him thoughtfully. "Almost from the first," she said, "and except for an occasional minute or two, you have refused to be serious. That interests me. Why is it? Aren't you willing to realize that there are real troubles in the world, terrible troubles, that the bravest go down under?" "Of course." He was serious now. He had begun to realize that fully. "It's my unfortunate manner, I suppose," he defended himself. "I've never taken anything seriously for very long. It's hard to form the habit, all of a sudden." "You will have to take me seriously." He made a large gesture of acceptance. "All right," he promised. "That brings us back to where we were. Tell me the truth. If there's anything in it that really menaces you, you'll find me serious enough." Before answering, she rose and opened the studio door, on which, he observed with approval, a strong new lock and an inside bolt had already been placed. He saw her peer up and down the hall. Then she closed and bolted the door, and returned to her chair. The precaution brought before him a mental vision of Herbert Ransome Shaw prowling about the dim corridors. He spoke incredulously. [Illustration: "There is someone outside that door!" she whispered] "Are you really afraid of that chap?" "I have good reason to be," she said quietly. She sat down in her chair again, rested her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands, in the pose already so familiar to him, and added quietly, "He is the source of all my present trouble." She stopped and turned her head to listen. "Do you hear anything moving in the hall?" she asked, almost in a whisper. "No. Shall I look?" She shook her head. "Don't unbolt the door." "You're nervous. I'm sure there's nothing there. Please go on," he urged. "Our little friend Bertie--" Seeing her expression, he stopped short. "Forgive me," he said, humbly. "But the plain truth is, it's awfully hard for me to take that fellow seriously. Oh, I know he's venomous," he conceded, "but I can't help feeling that he hasn't as much power over you as you think he has." He realized that she was listening, but not to him. "There _is_ some one outside that door!" she whispered. Laurie leaped to the door as noiselessly as a cat, unbolted it, and flung it open. The hall was empty. He had an instantaneous impression that something as silent as a moving shadow had vanished around the staircase at the far end, but when he reached the spot he saw nothing save the descending iron spirals of successive stairways. He returned to his companion, smiling reassuringly. "It's our nerves," he said. "In a few minutes more I shall be worrying about Bertie, myself." "Bolt the door again," she directed. He obeyed. She went on as if there had been no interruption to their talk.