"That was right," rejoined his master, with a laugh. "Now get me the menu."
Oku picked up the tray and made for the door.
"Yes—excuse, please. Excuse."
When his butler had disappeared, Stafford turned to his guests with a smile:
"Queer little chap, isn't he? He is very devoted, and I find him very useful. You see, being a bachelor, I don't keep house, but if I have a little party like this, I generally leave the selection of the dinner to Oku and have it served in there—" He pointed to the dining-room, the folding doors of which the butler had closed. With a good-natured laugh, he added: "He has shut the doors so we can't see the spread. I hope the little beggar has something good."
Jim, who, until now, had remained in the background, trying to summon up enough courage to take an aggressive part in the conversation, spoke up boldly:
"Nice little place you have here, Mr. Stafford."
There was an amused expression, which did not escape Virginia's notice, hovering around the corners of the millionaire's mouth, as he replied:
"Glad you like it. Have you seen the other rooms?"
"No," replied the clerk carelessly, as he flecked the ashes from his cigar on to the fine Turkish rug. "I'm judging by this one—"