She smiled at her father, gave her hand to Fitzgerald, who found it
warm and moist from the ride, and glanced inquiringly at Breitmann.

"My dear," said her father, "this is Mr. Breitmann, my new secretary."

That gentleman bowed stiffly, and the scars faded somewhat when he
observed that her hand was extended in welcome. This unconventionality
rather confused him, and as he took the hand he almost kissed it. She
understood the innocence of the gesture, and saved him from
embarrassment by withdrawing the hand casually.

"I hope you will like it here," was the pleasant wish.

"Thank you, I shall."

"You are German?" quickly.

"I was born in Bavaria, Miss Killigrew."

"The name should have told me." She excused herself.

"Oho!" thought Fitzgerald, with malicious exultancy. "If she doesn't
interfere with your work!"

But with introspection, this exultancy grew suddenly dim. How about
himself? Yes. Here was a question that would bear some close
inspection. Was it really the wish to capture a supposable burglar?
He made short work of this analysis. He never lied to others--not even
in his work, which every one knows is endowed with special licenses in
regard to truth--nor did he ever play the futile, if soothing, game of