“It was,” conceded Teddie. She was more than serious, she was even grim about it all. And if Gerry West had laughed at her, at any moment of that perilous mood, everything would have been over between them. But Gerry was solemnity itself. “Go on!” he said, almost bruskly. “Now Raoul Uhlan claims that he’s lost a valuable commission through—through what was done to him. And the young lady who’s interested in Gunboat Dorgan seems to think because I had him protect me in this way that I’ve interfered with her claim on this hero of hers.” “In what way interfered with him?” demanded Gerry. “That I’ve—that I’ve made love to him,” acknowledged the none too happy Theodora Lydia. “Why do you say that?” “Because she’s seeing her lawyer about it.” “And this man Uhlan?” “He sent his attorney, a man named Shotwell, to my studio to explain that because of his injuries he couldn’t paint his twelve-thousand-dollar portrait. I was quite willing to pay for that until old Shotwell put in another claim for twelve thousand dollars for damages in general and an extra thousand for himself.” “So they’re all trying after a bite,” commented Gerry, studying his engagement-pad. “Now, tell me, Miss Hayden——” “Don’t do that,” was Teddie’s sharp command. “Don’t do what?” “Don’t call me Miss Hayden.” “All right, Teddie,” acquiesced her counsel-at-law, without a break in his solemnity. “But the first thing you must tell me is just what you intend doing.” “I don’t know _what_ to do. That’s why I came to see you. That’s what I’m willing to pay you for. But it’s not entirely unnatural, I think, to nurse a fixed aversion to be chased around the map by an army of reporters and subpœna-servers.” “There are several things, of course, that we can do,” explained Gerry, quite unruffled by this unmasking of the guns of irony. “But before we go any further there’s a phase or two of the case I must understand. It was in your studio, you say, that this assault took place?” “I _hate_ that word!” interpolated Teddie. “Well—er—this incident. Now, had you forbidden this man Uhlan entry, warned him away, and all that sort of thing?” “No, he was coming there three times a week, to give me lessons,” explained Teddie. “For which he was being duly paid?” “No, nothing was ever said about his being paid,” she acknowledged. And Gerry’s increase of gravity didn’t altogether add to her happiness. “And the day he got his thumping—why did he come to your studio on that occasion?” For the second time Teddie hesitated. Life, after all, wasn’t so simple as she had once imagined it. “He came to make love to me,” she finally admitted, not meeting Gerry’s eyes. “And I had Gunboat Dorgan there to give him what he deserved.” Gerry wagged his head. He did so with what impressed Teddie as quite unnecessary solemnity. “Now, about this man Dorgan: He knew exactly why he was doing what he did?” “Of course!”