Haredale—one of the best-known men in town—worked as few men work to bring the right people to the house in Park Lane (and to save his commission). This arrangement led Mr. Rohscheimer to rejoice exceedingly over his growing social circle, and made Haredale so ashamed of himself that, so he declared to an intimate friend, he had not looked in a mirror for nine months, but relied implicitly upon the good taste of his man.
"Come up and give me your opinion of the new waistcoats," said Rohscheimer. "I don't fancy my luck in 'em, personally."
Following the financier to his dressing-room, Haredale, as a smart maid stood aside to let them pass, felt the girl's hand slip a note into his own. Glancing at it, behind Rohscheimer's back, he read: "Keep him away as much as ever you can."
"She has spotted him!" he muttered; and, in his sympathy with the difficulties of poor Mrs. Rohscheimer's position, he forgot, temporarily, the difficulties of his own.
"By the way," said Rohscheimer, "did you bring along that late edition with the details of the Runek Mill business?"
"Yes," said Haredale, producing it from his overcoat pocket.
"Just read it out, will you?" continued the other, "while I have a rub down."
Haredale nodded, and, lighting a cigarette, sank into a deep arm-chair and read the following paragraph:
"A FAIRY GODMOTHER IN ONTARIO
"(From our Toronto Correspondent)