“Well, yes,” drawled she teasingly, a roguish twinkle in those violet-blue eyes, “he must be good-looking” (Miss Connaughton’s brow clouded) “and smart in appearance. Why,” with an experienced air, “there isn’t any part of New York so quick to note the difference between real and sham people as the East Side, and the children have a most embarrassing way of throwing valuless etceteras.” Mr. Avery picked up a pencil. “Deaf and dumb, good-looking, young, smartly dressed,” he enumerated. “Anything else?” “Let--me--see,” pondered Agatha. After a moment, “I think I shan’t bother to stipulate the colour of his eyes and hair.” “Huh!” observed Auntie. “I shall have no difficulty in finding a person very soon who will fit these requirements,” said Mr. Avery briskly. Agatha rose, gave him a dainty curtsy, and approached the door. It was just at this point that she got a bad start. Miss Connaughton was beside Mr. Avery’s desk imparting something in confidence. Agatha, twirling her parasol and proudly ignoring her aunt’s whispering, dropped into a chair and was making a leisurely survey of the room, when---- She had not particularly noticed, before this, the long, high reference table that occupied one whole side of the office and was piled with books. Under it now, against the claw-feet of a revolving chair, she spied something--a pair of neat, brown half-shoes! Above these were a few squares inches of hosiery--plaid hosiery. There was a man behind that table! It was the plaid that caught Agatha’s eye: it was so absolutely out of the ordinary, and, in fact, noisy--broad blue and green stripes at right angles across a drab ground. It betokened importation. “And from France,” concluded Agatha shrewdly; for on the drab ground, between the stripes, were cunningly worked French knots. There was another member of the firm of Avery & Avery--Mr. Avery, Jr. Perhaps this was he--eavesdropping. But, no; he was a gentleman with a grown son. The plaid-hosiery person was a young clerk with loud taste, and he was really not worth a second thought. “Come, Auntie, please,” said Agatha, with all the dignity she could command. Then she swept out. It was quite wonderful how promptly Mr. Avery, Sr., disposed of the matter of the escort. The very next day Agatha was informed that the attorney wished to speak with her over the telephone, and no sooner had she popped the receiver to her pink ear than a man’s voice hailed her with a brisk “Good-morning” that bespoke success. And how nice and deep his voice was over the wire! Why, not at all like his usual, every-day voice! “Good-morning,” returned Agatha. “I hope you’ve found someone. I wanted to attend a meeting of the Cigarette Makers to-day. But” (a little sulkily) “the moment I mentioned it Auntie developed a case of ocular neuralgia.” There came back a hearty laugh, then, “Oh, say, Miss Agatha, I can settle that neuralgia.” “You mean you’ve found him?” asked Agatha; “so soon?”