"Very well. I merely want to say that a model threw me down hard in the
very middle of the Bimmington's ball-room. Max Schindler put on a show,
and she put for the spot-light. She'd better stay put," he added grimly:
"she'll never have another chance in your guild."

Then the frown vanished, and the exceedingly engaging smile glimmered in
his eyes:

"You wouldn't do such a thing as that to me," he added; "would you,
Miss West?"

"Oh, no," she replied, not clearly comprehending the enormity of the
Schindler recruit's behaviour.

"And you'll stand by me if our engagement goes through?"

"Yes, I--will try to."

"Good business! Now, if you really are what I have an idea you are, I'll
know pretty quick whether I can use you for the Byzantine job." He rose,
walked over to a pair of closed folding doors and opened them. "You can
undress in there," he said. "I think you will find everything you need."

For a second she sat rigid, her black-gloved hands doubled, her eyes
fastened on him as though fascinated. He had already turned and
sauntered over to one of several easels where he picked up the lump of
charcoal in its silver foil.

The colour began to come back into her face--swifter, more swiftly: the