"Mrs. Toper--nightcap?" Dick queried of Paula. But she shook her head and busied herself at the piano putting away the music, while the men had their drink. Graham closed down the piano for her, while Dick waited in the doorway, so that when they left he led them by a dozen feet. As they came along, Graham, under her instructions, turned off the lights in the halls. Dick waited where the ways diverged and where Graham would have to say good night on his way to the tower room. The one remaining light was turned off. "Oh, not that one, silly," Dick heard Paula cry out. "We keep it on all night." Dick heard nothing, but the dark was fervent to him. He cursed himself for his own past embraces in the dark, for so the wisdom was given him to know the quick embrace that had occurred, ere, the next moment, the light flashed on again. He found himself lacking the courage to look at their faces as they came toward him. He did not want to see Paula's frank eyes veiled by her lashes, and he fumbled to light a cigarette while he cudgeled his wits for the wording of an ordinary good night. "How goes the book?--what chapter?" he called after Graham down his hall, as Paula put her hand in his. Her hand in his, swinging his, hopping and skipping and all a-chatter in simulation of a little girl with a grown-up, Paula went on with Dick; while he sadly pondered what ruse she had in mind by which to avoid the long-avoided, good night kiss. Evidently she had not found it when they reached the dividing of the ways that led to her quarters and to his. Still swinging his hand, still buoyantly chattering fun, she continued with him into his workroom. Here he surrendered. He had neither heart nor energy to wait for her to develop whatever she contemplated. He feigned sudden recollection, deflected her by the hand to his desk, and picked up a letter. "I'd promised myself to get a reply off on the first machine in the morning," he explained, as he pressed on the phonograph and began dictating. For a paragraph she still held his hand. Then he felt the parting pressure of her fingers and her whispered good night. "Good night, little woman," he answered mechanically, and continued dictating as if oblivious to her going. Nor did he cease until he knew she was well out of hearing. CHAPTER XXVIII A dozen times that morning, dictating to Blake or indicating answers, Dick had been on the verge of saying to let the rest of the correspondence go. "Call up Hennessy and Mendenhall," he told Blake, when, at ten, the latter gathered up his notes and rose to go. "You ought to catch them at the stallion barn. Tell them not to come this morning but to-morrow morning." Bonbright entered, prepared to shorthand Dick's conversations with his managers for the next hour. "And--oh, Mr. Blake," Dick called. "Ask Hennessy about Alden Bessie.--The old mare was pretty bad last night," he explained to Bonbright.