He suddenly realized that a girl _is_ entitled to a certain degree of privacy in receiving a proposal. "Oh! I clean forgot where we were!" he said contritely. "I'm sorry. The two things are so mixed up in my mind, I felt I couldn't tell you quick enough." A silence fell between them. He studied her face wistfully, but could read nothing in the closed lips and downcast eyes. "Katy, dear, can't you give me one word to go on?" She shook her head. "Nothing definite, Katy--but just a hint I can't stand the suspense." She murmured softly: "My answer is no." "Oh, Katy!" he said brokenly. "Sometimes I thought you looked at me as if--my mistake, I suppose. Don't you like me, Katy?" "One doesn't marry on liking. I used to like you as a poor boy; But money changes people's characters. I'll have to wait and see." 4 Having left Kate at the office to which she most unreasonably insisted on returning, Jack bethought himself of the charge laid upon him to visit Silas Gyde's rooms alone. Kate's last words had not been too discouraging, and there was a pleasant suggestion of mystery in this new errand. Jack's spirits were good. Another taxi-cab whirled him up-town to the Madagascar. Even now, occasionally the feeling came over him that he was living in a dream. He fingered the roll of bills in his pocket for reassurance. "This is certainly me, Jack Norman," he thought. "And this is my money! The roll's not much smaller either. It must be real money because I have eaten it, drunk it, smoked it and am wearing it!" He entered the hotel, one of Manhattan's greatest, with an odd little thrill in his breast. "This is mine," he told himself, "all this marble and onyx and plate glass; these tapestries, these Oriental rugs, these tropical plants, all mine! These good-looking bell-hops work for me; the Duke himself yonder at the desk will have to bend his haughty head when he finds out who I am!" Jack was a little shy of asking to be shown to the late Mr. Gyde's rooms. Having no credentials, he suspected that his story might very well be laughed at, and he himself be shown the door. Anyway, he felt an instinctive repugnance to telling his story to all and sundry. If he could only find out where the rooms were he needn't apply at the desk, since he had the keys. An attractive young woman at the news counter caught his attention. He bought a magazine from her, and while she made change sought to engage her in conversation. "They say Mr. Silas Gyde used to live here." "Yes, he owned this hotel." "He must have been a queer Dick if you can believe what you read." "Oh, the half of his queerness hasn't been printed." "Was he a customer of yours?" "No indeed. He never bought anything in the hotel. Said he could get it cheaper outside. Got his meals over on Eighth avenue and around." "I wonder he lived here at all. Did he have a fine suite?" "No, the cheapest rooms in the house." "Where were they?"