I was about to be frightened when a man arose and restlessly moved toward the chimneypiece, not because there was anything there he desired to see, but because he couldn't continue to sit still. He was a striking figure, tall, spare, large-boned and powerful. The face was of the type which for want of a better word I can only speak of as masculine. It was long and lean and strong; if it was handsome it was only because every feature and line was cut to the same large pattern as the frame. Sweeping mustaches, of the kind school-girls are commonly supposed to love, concealed a mouth which I could have wagered would be hard, while the luminosity of the gaze suggested a rather hungry set of human qualities and passions. We were now two restless persons instead of one, and I was about to leave the room when a page came in. "Sorry, sir," said the honest-faced little boy, with an amusingly uncouth accent I find it impossible to transcribe, "but number four-twenty-three ain't in, so I guess she must be out." Startled, I rose to my feet. "But I'm number four-twenty-three." The boy turned toward me nonchalantly. "Didn't know you was here! That gentleman wants you." With this introduction he dashed away, and I was once more conscious of the luminous eyes bent upon me. The tall figure, too, advanced a few paces in my direction. "I asked for Miss Adare." The voice was deep and grave and harsh and musical all at once. "That's my name." "Mine's Grainger." I gasped silently, like a dying fish, before I could stammer the words-- "Won't you sit down?" As he seated himself near me and in a good light, I saw that his skin was tanned, as if he lived on the sea or in the open air. I learned later from Larry Strangways that he had just come from a summer's yachting. His gaze studied me--not as a man studies a woman, but as a workman inspects a tool. "You probably know my errand." "Mr. Strangways--" "Yes, I told him to sound you." "But I'm afraid I wouldn't do." "Why do you think so?" "Because I don't know anything about the work." "There's no work to know anything about. All you'd have to do would be to sit still. You'd never have more than two or three visitors in a day--and most days none at all." "But what should I do when visitors came?" "Show them what they asked to see. You'd find that in the catalogue. You'd soon get the hang of the place. It's small. There's not much in it when you come to sum it up. Miss Davis will show you the ropes before she leaves on the first of October. I'll give you the same salary I've been paying her." He named a sum the munificence of which almost took my breath away. "Oh, but I shouldn't be worth that." "It's the salary," he said, briefly, as he rose. "You can arrange with my secretary, Strangways, when you would like to begin. The sooner the better, as I understand that Miss Davis would like to get off."