"Of course, I'm exceedingly flattered," Pamela observed, "or rather I should be if I believed you, but I don't see how you could leave a supper-party at Henry's and go straight to Tilbury." "Say, how did you know I was supping at Henry's?" he inquired. "Because I was there for luncheon myself, as you know," she answered carelessly, "and I heard you order your table for supper." Mr. Fischer nodded reminiscently. "I always wind up with a little supper at Henry's, on my last night in London," he remarked. "It left me two hours to get down to Tilbury, but it don't take me long to start for anywhere when I once make up my mind. That's the American of us, I suppose. Besides, I never need much in the way of luggage. I keep clothes over on the other side and clothes in New York, and a grip always ready packed for a journey." "You're so typical," she murmured, smiling. "I don't know about that," he replied. "My business makes it necessary for me to be always on the go. Have you heard from your brother lately?" Pamela shook her head. "Jimmy is the most terrible correspondent," she complained. "I don't think I've had any mail from him for two months." "You didn't know that he and I were sharing rooms together, then, in the Plaza Hotel, I suppose?" Pamela turned her head a little and gazed at her companion in genuine surprise. "Sharing rooms in the Plaza Hotel?" she repeated.... "You and Jimmy?" "I guess that's so," Mr. Fischer assented. "We were doing business together one day, and the subject cropped up somehow or other. Your brother was thinking of making a move, and I'd just been shown these rooms, which were a trifle on the large side for me. I made him an offer and he jumped at it." "I hope you're not leading James into extravagant ways," she remarked anxiously. "I loved his little apartment in Forty-Second Street and it was so inexpensive." "Your brother's share of these rooms isn't anything more than he can afford," Mr. Fischer assured her. "That I can promise you. I guess his firm is doing well just now. If they've many more clients like me they are." "It is very nice of you to put business in his way," Pamela said thoughtfully. "I wonder why you do it, Mr. Fischer?" "Why shouldn't I?" "Well," Pamela went on, her eyes travelling out seaward for a moment, "you seem to be one of those sort of men, Mr. Fischer, who never do anything without an object." "_Some_ powers of observation," he admitted blithely. "You have an object in being kind to Jimmy, then?" Mr. Fischer produced a cigar case and selected a cheroot. "Mind my smoking?" "Not in the least. The only time I mind things is when people don't answer my questions." "I was only kind of hesitating," Mr. Fischer went on, leaning back once more in his chair. "You want the truth, don't you?" "I never think anything else is worth while."