The Daughter of a Magnate

To the joy of the conspirators, Bucks held Glover closely at

headquarters, keeping him closeted for long periods on the estimates

that were in final cooking for the directors; and so dense are great

people and so keen the simple, that Gertrude held her lone seat of

honor beside her father, at the table of the great financiers in the

dining-room, without the remotest suspicion on their parts that the

superb woman meeting them three times a day was carrying on a

proudly-hidden love affair with the muscular, absorbed-looking man who

sat alone across the aisle.

But the asthmatic old pastry cook, who weighed at least two hundred and

thirty pounds and had not even seen the inside of the dining-room for

three years, was thoroughly posted on every observable phase of the

affair down to the dessert orders; and no one acquainted with the frank

profanity of a mountain meat cook will doubt that the best of

everything went hot from the range to Glover and Gertrude. Dollar tips

and five-dollar tips from Eastern epicures could not change this, for

the meals were served by waitresses who felt a personal responsibility

in the issue of the pretty affair of the heart.

The whole second floor of the little hotel had been reserved for the

directors' party, and among the rooms was the parlor. There Glover

called regularly every evening on Mr. Brock, who, somewhat at a loss to

understand the young man's interest, excused himself after the first

few minutes and left Gertrude to entertain the gentleman who had been

so kind to everybody that she could not be discourteous even if he was

somewhat tedious.

One night after a particularly happy evening near the piano for

Gertrude and Glover, Mr. Brock, re-entering the parlor, found the

somewhat tedious gentleman bending very low, as his daughter said

good-night, over her hand; in fact, the gentleman that had been so kind

to everybody was kissing it.

When Glover recovered his perpendicular the cold magnate of the West

End stood between the folding doors looking directly at him. If the

owner of several trunk lines expected his look to inspire consternation

he was disappointed. Each of the lovers feared but one person in the

world; that was the other. Gertrude, with perhaps an extra touch of

dignity, put her compromised hand to her belt for her handkerchief.

Glover finished the sentence he was in the middle of--"If I am not

ordered out. Good-night."

But when Mr. Brock had turned abruptly on his heel and disappeared

between the portières they certainly did look at one another.

"Have I got you into trouble now?" murmured Glover, penitently.

Uneasiness was apparent in her expression, but with her back to the

piano Gertrude stood steadfast.

"Not," she said, with serious tenderness, "just now. Don't you know?

It was the first, the very first, day you looked into my eyes, dear,

that you got me into trouble."