“Yes; he was telling us so many things. Justin,”—something prompted her against her will to say what had been rankling in her memory,—“he thinks Mr. Martin is like a crab, and that he takes people in between his claws and pinches them. I wish you’d be careful.” Steel seemed swiftly to incase her husband. “He will not pinch me, at all events,” he said shortly. After a moment’s pause he made an effort to return to his former manner, but with an altered tone: “I’m sorry I was kept so late. I was some time consulting with Selden about the house; you can have the closet. After that we were all talking at Leverich’s. He had a friend out there to-night, a fine young fellow, extraordinarily interesting; he was giving us points on the South American trade. He’s going to be of great use to us, he goes down there again in the spring. He’s a fine-looking fellow, by the way, tall and well set up; he reminds me of Brent, Lois—you remember him? The same kind of bright, resolute face; only this man’s browner.” Conscious of a perverse irresponsiveness in his wife, Justin turned to Dosia, who had slipped back into the room to look under the table and chairs for a blue bow that had fallen from her hair. She stood now in the doorway with it in her hand. “He came up from the South the same day you did last fall, Dosia, he was in that wreck. It must have been a horrible thing.” Justin broke off at the retrospection of the narrative. “Yes,” said Dosia in a whisper. She leaned against the door for support. “You were fortunate to get off so well.” Absorbed in his own recital, Justin did not observe her. “He was going from one car to another when the train went off the trestle—I don’t wonder you would never talk about it, Dosia. He was able to help some of the survivors. There was a poor young girl who was alone, like you—he didn’t know what became of her; he was ill himself in the hospital for two weeks afterwards. His description of the whole thing was extraordinarily vivid.” Justin was now bolting windows and putting out lights as he talked. “You two girls must go to bed at once; it’s nearly twelve.” “What was his name?” asked Dosia. “His name? Why, I thought I’d told you. His name’s Girard—Bailey Girard.” CHAPTER TEN “Reginald has the measles.” Lois made the announcement breathlessly, as she stood outside of the drawing-room, addressing the visitors who sat on the sofa, talking to Dosia. “The doctor has just gone, and he says it is the measles. I don’t suppose I had better come in the room.” There was a tone of resentment in her voice which seemed to originate in the idea of being excluded; in reality, it was caused by the bitter thought that she had known for a couple of days that Redge was not well, and that his father had been exacting with him. “I really suppose I had better not come in.” “Oh, don’t mind me!” Mrs. Leverich, gorgeous in velvet and furs, spoke reassuringly. “There are no children at our house, and I’ve had the measles.”