“I wrote so urgently,” she said in a low tone. “I couldn’t understand why they didn’t send some one-- I asked them to--to consider my letter as confidential, and if you don’t mind-- Will you please not mention to--to the superintendent or to the owner that I sent for you?” “That shall be our secret,” said the young man solemnly and a little bewilderedly, retaining her hand. “But I will show you everything, and tell you everything, and help you every way I possibly can!” “Well, that sounds fair enough,” he said reasonably. “And whom have I the pleasure----” “My name is Glen Darrow.” “Glen Darrow!” The fair young man repeated it with evident pleasure. “Glen Darrow ... you sound like a piece of Scotch scenery, but you look even nicer than that.” Glen retrieved her hand gently and rather absently. “This is the spinning room, and this little girl----” “Gloriana-Virginia and I have already met, thank you very much. Well, Glory,” he spoke to the child who had dipped into her book again, “what’s happening now?” “Oh, suh, hit’s jes’ so fine hit’s purely my delight! The Prince, he’s jes’ come to the Ogre’s castle and found the Princess!” The youth in spotless white laughed aloud. “Sounds like a bit out of a Hollywood continuity, doesn’t it?” He looked at Glen with appraisal and approval. She had not heard him, or at least she had not taken in the sense or the nonsense of his words. “I expect you’ll want to go all through, first, and then take it room by room,” she said absorbedly, “and talk with the hands, after hours, of course, in their homes. I could give you a list----” But he had not paid any more attention to her words than she had to his. He was looking at her with a growing intentness, and his mind was still on Gloriana-Virginia’s last sentence. “The Prince and the Princess and the Ogre’s castle,” he repeated. “We’re all set! But where’s the Ogre?” “I could meet you somewhere--” Glen was going on earnestly. “You could meet me _any_where!” the youth interrupted her warmly. “You can date me out for any time or place! We can----” The door opened abruptly and Luke Manders, only a trifle late on his cue, strode in. “Oh, there you are, sir!” he said thankfully. “I’m right sorry that fool woman was so slow in asking you in! I was afraid you’d left, and I’ve been hunting everywhere-- Mr. ’Gene Carey has been sick--I reckon you know that--and he still doesn’t get down here. But I’m his superintendent, Luke Manders, and anything I can do for you, Mr. Parker----” Glen, who had been staring in astonishment at Luke’s cordiality to the unknown investigator, so utterly at variance with his rule of “No Visitors Allowed,” caught her breath at sound of the name. “What? What did you say, Luke?” “Oh, Glen!” He turned to her and handed over the card which he was still carrying. “This is Mr. Peter Parker, and that fool, M’liss’ kept him waiting outside till-- This is Glen Darrow, Mr. Parker, who----”