"Don't be afraid," he assured her, and so quietly and courteously now that it seemed to the girl as if another man was speaking. "I'm not going to shoot--I shall stay right where I am, don't fear. If you wish you may go now." But as she started to go he leaned forward and said: "You're free to go,"--there was a pathetic note in his voice now,--"but I would like to tell you something--to explain my presence here. I came here looking for Leslie Wilkinson--the son of Peter V. Wilkinson, and----" "But," she interrupted, in a puzzled way, "but my father has no son--I'm his only child." Ilingsworth bowed his head. "I know that now," he answered, "but I didn't know it before. I was looking for a conspirator of Peter V. Wilkinson's, and I thought I had run him down. I thought I had, indeed.... You must not be frightened," he went on hastily, "and don't think me crazy. I'm only horribly nervous. I've been desperate for weeks. I wouldn't harm you for the world--I have a daughter of my own. But you must hear me out--I've got to tell this to somebody--somebody who believes me, or I'll go mad. No, no," he pleaded, for she seemed about to leave him. "My name is--why, here's my card--I'm----" "Oh, to be sure, Mr. Giles Ilingsworth, Vice-President of the Tri-State," she said smilingly, giving a hasty look at the card in his hand. "I remember, now, a quarter of an hour ago I wondered what you might want with me. You see I dressed all up for you," and she flashed a glance of coquetry toward him that was meant to captivate and appease, for she was still under the impression that she was dealing with an insane man: not for one moment did she believe that the Vice-President of the Tri-State stood before her. Ilingsworth turned pale as he watched her. Although apparently indifferent to her words, her marvellous self-possession and witchery were by no means lost on him. With something of a pang he realised that it was easily explainable. She was Wilkinson's daughter; she had her share of his wonderful steadiness of nerve. He sighed. How many times had he given thanks that Elinor was all woman, all heart, gentle, yielding. And yet, how much better for her if she had some of the qualities that Wilkinson seemed to have infused into his offspring. Little did he know that Elinor was fashioned in his own mould; that the dark-eyed, warm-faced girl that he had left at home had inherited his impulsiveness, for he had been denied the even balance accorded to other business men. Compared with the caressing tenderness of his girl Elinor, this girl who faced him seemed, perhaps, too well-balanced. But though he did not know it, he was mistaken: Leslie Wilkinson, though of a different type, was fully as feminine. "Elinor," he groaned half to himself. "Mr. Ilingsworth," Leslie began, breaking in on his musings, "may I ask what you want with Leslie Wilkinson?"