“Whatever is the matter with you, Cecil? Don't gape at me like that, and come along at once, unless you want to be left behind. Yes, we are very short-handed and the chief let me go down to see Mr. Trent. He didn't expect for a moment that I should get him to talk to me, but I did, and he let me sketch the house. I am awfully pleased with myself I can tell you.” The young man walked by her side for a moment in silence. She looked up at him casually as they crossed the street, and something in his face surprised her. “Why, Cecil, what on earth is the matter with you?” she exclaimed. He looked down at her with a new seriousness. “I was thinking,” he said, “how oddly things turn out. So you have been down to interview Mr. Scarlett Trent for a newspaper, and he was civil to you!” “Well, I don't see anything odd about that,” she exclaimed impatiently. “Don't be so enigmatical. If you've anything to say, say it! Don't look at me like an owl!” “I have a good deal to say to you,” he answered gravely. “How long shall you be at the office?” “About an hour--perhaps longer.” “I will wait for you!” “I'd rather you didn't. I don't want them to think that I go trailing about with an escort.” “Then may I come down to your flat? I have something really important to say to you, Ernestine. It does not concern myself at all. It is wholly about you. It is something which you ought to know.” “You are trading upon my curiosity for the sake of a tea,” she laughed. “Very well, about five o'clock.” He bowed and walked back westwards with a graver look than usual upon his boyish face, for he had a task before him which was very little to his liking. Ernestine swung open the entrance door to the “Hour”, and passed down the rows of desks until she reached the door at the further end marked “Sub-Editor.” She knocked and was admitted at once. A thin, dark young man, wearing a pince-nez and smoking a cigarette, looked up from his writing as she entered. He waved her to a seat, but his pen never stopped for a second. “Back, Miss Wendermott! Very good! What did you get?” “Interview and sketch of the house,” she responded briskly. “Interview by Jove! That's good! Was he very difficult?” “Ridiculously easy! Told me everything I asked and a lot more. If I could have got it all down in his own language it would have been positively thrilling.” The sub-editor scribbled in silence for a moment or two. He had reached an important point in his own work. His pen went slower, hesitated for a moment, and then dashed on with renewed vigour. “Read the first few sentences of what you've got,” he remarked. Ernestine obeyed. To all appearance the man was engrossed in his own work, but when she paused he nodded his head appreciatively. “It'll do!” he said. “Don't try to polish it. Give it down, and see that the proofs are submitted to me. Where's the sketch?”