“So that she can be free to marry you?” Jarvis asked. His eyes were fixed and glittered strangely. “Yes! Why not? She’s my promised wife.” Jarvis stood silent for a long minute, as if considering David’s words. Then he looked up, moving a little toward the door with the manifest intention of bringing the unfruitful interview to an end. “I cannot say more at present than that I will endeavor to so arrange matters with my client as to meet Miss Preston’s wishes,” he said. He looked calmly, dispassionately at David, and again the young man felt himself vaguely humiliated. He had meant to say more, much more; but quite unexpectedly he found himself bidding Jarvis good-night. The door closed quietly upon his wrath and discomfiture. Stephen Jarvis did not at once resume the reading of the thin blue volume which lay face down in the bright circle of lamp-light. Instead he walked slowly up and down the room, his brows knit, his sinewy hands locked behind him. He was trying as conscientiously as possible to look at the situation from the view-point of the young man; to find, if possible, in his own conduct some valid excuse for the (to him) intolerable behavior of Whitcomb. While he yet strove with himself a second visitor was announced. Jarvis received this person with visible reluctance, bade him be seated, and sat down himself, before he opened the conversation with a tentative, “Well!” rather impatiently uttered. “I arrived this afternoon, Mr. Jarvis, and quite fortunately fell in at once with the person in question,” the newcomer said. “Yes,” said Jarvis dryly. “As I understand my commission,” pursued Mr. Todd, “I am to inform myself as to the person’s past, his present occupation and habits, and——” Jarvis made an impatient gesture of assent. “I want to know all about him,” he said. “It is important that I should be informed as to whether he is fitted for a position of trust.” The other man nodded. “I understand,” he said. “I want to know,” pursued Jarvis in a harsh voice, “if the man is truthful, honest, temperate. If, in short, he is the man to be implicitly trusted with—interests of the highest value and importance.” Mr. Todd again assented, his sharp ferret eyes taking in the details of his employer’s face and person with professional acumen. “Mercantile?” he asked briskly, “or professional? There’s a difference, you know. Now a man might be something of a braggart, addicted to cigarette smoking, not averse to a temperate use of intoxicants, an occasional—er——” “Do you see all this in him already?” demanded Jarvis. Mr. Todd considered. “I dined with the young man,” he said slowly, “and acquired certain information which may or may not have a bearing on your case.” Jarvis leaned forward, glistening drops of moisture starting out on his forehead.