"Young miss," he said, pausing deferentially at the door, "may I come

in?"

She smiled up at him--a proceeding which was generally sufficient to

throw Bones into a pitiful condition of incoherence. But this morning

it had only the effect of making him close his eyes as though to shut

out a vision too radiant to be borne.

"Aren't you well, Mr. Tibbetts?" she asked quickly and anxiously.

"It's nothing, dear old miss," said Bones, passing a weary and

hypocritical hand across his brow. "Just a fit of the jolly old

staggers. The fact is, I've been keeping late hours--in fact, dear

young miss," he said huskily, "I have been engaged in a wicked old

pursuit--yes, positively naughty...."

"Oh, Mr. Tibbetts"--she was truly shocked--"I'm awfully sorry! You

really shouldn't drink--you're so young...."

"Drink!" said the hurt and astounded Bones. "Dear old slanderer!

Poetry!"

He had written sufficient poetry to make a volume--poems which abounded

in such rhymes as "Marguerite," "Dainty feet," "Sweet," "Hard to beat,"

and the like. But this she did not know.

By this time the girl was not only accustomed to these periodical

embarrassments of Bones, but had acquired the knack of switching the

conversation to the main line of business.

"There's a letter from Mr. de Vinne," she said.

Bones rubbed his nose and said, "Oh!"

Mr. de Vinne was on his mind rather than on his conscience, for Mr. de

Vinne was very angry with Bones, who, as he had said, had "niped" in

and had cost Mr. de Vinne £17,500.

"It is not a nice letter," suggested the girl.

"Let me see, dear young head-turner," said Bones firmly.

The letter called him "Sir," and went on to speak of the writer's years

of experience as a merchant of the City of London, in all of which,

said the writer, he had never heard of conduct approaching in infamy

that of Augustus Tibbetts, Esquire.

The letter went on to express the writer's intention of taking

vengeance for the "dishonest squeeze" of which he had been the victim.

Bones looked at his secretary anxiously. The censure of Mr. de Vinne

affected him not at all. The possible disapproval of this lady filled

him with dire apprehension.

"It's not a nice letter," said the girl. "Do you want me to answer it?"




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