"Are you busy, Mr. Marlowe?" asked Billie, addressing the boots. Sam wriggled out from under the desk like a disconcerted tortoise. "Dropped my pen," he mumbled, as he rose to the surface. He pulled himself with an effort that was like a physical exercise. He stared at Billie dumbly. Then, recovering speech, he invited her to sit down, and seated himself at the desk. "Dropped my pen!" he gurgled again. "Yes?" said Billie. "Fountain-pen," babbled Sam, "with a broad nib." "Yes?" "A broad gold nib," went on Sam, with the painful exactitude which comes only from embarrassment or the early stages of intoxication. "Really?" said Billie, and Sam blinked and told himself resolutely that this would not do. He was not appearing to advantage. It suddenly occurred to him that his hair was standing on end as the result of his struggle with Widgery. He smoothed it down hastily, and felt a trifle more composed. The old fighting spirit of the Marlowes now began to assert itself to some extent. He must make an effort to appear as little of a fool as possible in this girl's eyes. And what eyes they were! Golly! Like stars! Like two bright planets in.... However, that was neither here nor there. He pulled down his waistcoat and became cold and business-like--the dry young lawyer. "Er--how do you do, Miss Bennett?" he said with a question in his voice, raising his eyebrows in a professional way. He modelled this performance on that of lawyers he had seen on the stage, and wished he had some snuff to take or something to tap against his front teeth. "Miss Bennett, I believe?" Billie drew herself up stiffly. "Yes," she replied. "How clever of you to remember me." "I have a good memory." "How nice! So have I!" There was a pause, during which Billie allowed her gaze to travel casually about the room. Sam occupied the intermission by staring furtively at her profile. He was by now in a thoroughly overwrought condition, and the thumping of his heart sounded to him as if workmen were mending the street outside. How beautiful she looked, with that red hair peeping out beneath her hat and ... However! "Is there anything I can do for you?" he asked in the sort of voice Widgery might have used. Sam always pictured Widgery as a small man with bushy eyebrows, a thin face, and a voice like a rusty file. "Well, I really wanted to see Sir Mallaby." "My father has been called away on important business to Walton Heath. Cannot I act as his substitute?" "Do you know anything about the law?" "Do I know anything about the law!" echoed Sam, amazed. "Do I know--! Why, I was reading my Widgery on Nisi Prius Evidence when you came in." "Oh, were you?" said Billie interested. "Do you always read on the floor." "I told you I dropped my pen," said Sam coldly. "And of course you couldn't read without that! Well, as a matter of fact, this has nothing to do with Nisi--what you said."