"You ought to know. There's something going on every evening now. And he goes everywhere."
"Yes: but outside of that?"
Esmé laughed. "How hard you're working to make a romance that isn't there. I go to his office once in a while, just to see the wheels go 'round."
"And are you going to the office now?"
"No," said Esmé, after consideration. "Hal Surtaine is coming here. This evening."
"You have an appointment with him?"
"Not yet. I'll telephone him."
"Father telephoned him, but he wouldn't come to see father. So father had to go to see him."
"Mahomet! Well, I'm the mountain in this case. Go in peace, my child." Esmé patted the other's head with an absurd and delightful affectation of maternalism. "And look in the 'Clarion' to-morrow with a clear assurance. You shan't find your name there—unless in the Social Doings column. Good-bye, dear."
Having thus engaged her honor, the advisor to the editor sat her down to plan. At the conclusion of a period of silent thought, she sent a telephone message which made the heart of young Mr. Surtaine accelerate its pace perceptibly. Was he too busy to come up to Greenvale, Dr. Elliot's place, at 8.30 sharp?