"Jeffries," cried the girl, springing up, "tell Jordan that it will be quite unnecessary to mention Mr. Ilingsworth's call to anyone. He came to see me."
"Very good, ma'am," returned the footman, passing on.
"And Jeffries," she continued, "have you anything to do just now?"
"Nothing, Miss Leslie," answered the man, "except to obtain the latest extras for Mrs. Wilkinson. She's that particular about it."
"Are there any extras now?" inquired the girl.
The footman inclined his head toward the entrance to the house, through which Ilingsworth had just made his exit.
"Don't you hear them, Miss?" he asked.
And indeed, at that moment, the yelping of the young street wolves of Manhattan could plainly be heard. Leslie placed her hands over her ears and fled incontinently up the broad stairs, disdaining the services of the man at the lift, who rose expectantly as she started past him. On reaching the first landing, she met Roy Pallister—little Pallister, she always thought of him, and noting the consternation on his countenance, she could not refrain from bursting into laughter.
"Why, Mr. Pallister," she cried, "you look as if you had been shot out of a cannon!"