"There's never been anybody except Jim--and the boys," he added, "until your mother was----" He stopped dead, then a moment later continued: "I'd like her to know." To Dorothy his voice seemed a little husky.

"May be it'ud please her to think that she had--you see I'm telling you the whole shooting-match," he blurted out as he resumed his restless pacing up and down.

"But that's just what you're not doing," said Dorothy. "I don't in the least understand what you mean, and---- Oh, I wish you could stand still, if only for a minute."

Instantly John Dene stopped in his walk, and stood in the middle of the room looking over Dorothy's head.

"I'm trying to ask you to marry me, only I haven't got the sand to do it," he blurted out almost angrily.

"Oh!" Dorothy's hands slipped into her lap, her eyes widened and her lips parted, as she looked up at him utterly dumbfounded.

"There, I knew what it would mean," he said, as he continued his pacing. "What have I got to offer? Look at me. I'm not good-looking.

My clothes are not right. I don't wear them properly. I can't say pretty things. The best I can do is to buy flowers and chocolates and express them. I daren't even hand them to you. Oh, I've thought it all over. What use am I to a woman?" Then as an after-thought he added, "to a girl?" He turned and paced away from Dorothy without looking at her.

"Oh, shucks!"

John Dene swung round on his heel as if he had been struck. His jaw dropped, his cigar fell from his mouth, and he looked at her as if she had said the most surprising thing he had ever heard.

"I said 'shucks'" she repeated. Her eyelids flickered a little and she was unusually pale.

"You mean----" His voice was far from steady.

"I mean," said Dorothy quietly, "that a man who could invent the _Destroyer_ ought to be able to learn how to talk to--to--be nice to a girl." The last five words came tumbling over each other, as if she had found great difficulty in uttering them, and then had thrown them all out at one time.

"Say," he began, hope shining from his eyes. Then he stopped abruptly and walked over to his chair, throwing himself into it with a sigh.

"You mean."

"Perhaps," said Dorothy, dropping her eyes and playing about with a fastening on her blouse, "I might be able to help you." Then after a pause she added, "You know you got me a rise."

And then John Dene smiled. "Say, this is great," he cried. "I--I----"

Then suddenly he jumped up, dashed for his hat and made for the door.

As he opened it he threw over his shoulder:

"We'll start right in to-morrow. I'm through with work for to-day.

I'll be over to-night."

Then suddenly Dorothy laughed. "Was ever maid so wooed?" she murmured.

"But----" and she left it at that.

As she thrust the pins into her hat, she decided that John Dene had been right. It would have been awkward to--to--well, to do anything but go home.

Just as she was about to lock the outer door of the office, she had an inspiration. Returning to her table she removed her gloves and, after a few minutes' thought and reference to the London Directory, she sat down to her typewriter and for a few minutes her fingers moved busily over the keys.

With a determined air she pulled the sheet from the clips and read:--

"JOHN DENE OF TORONTO. Lesson 1.

Tailors . . . Pond and Co., 130 Sackville Street.

Hosiers . . . Tye Brothers, 320 Jermyn Street.

Bootmakers . Ease & Treadwell, 630 Bond Street.

Hatters . . . Messrs. Bincoln and Lennet, Piccadilly.

When a man knows his job, let him do it and don't b.u.t.t in."

With a determined little nod of approval, she folded the sheet of paper, inserted it in an envelope, which she addressed to "John Dene, Esq., The Ritzton Hotel, S.W. Immediate," and left the office.

"I wonder what you would think of that, mother mine," she murmured as she left the hotel, after having given strict injunctions that the note be handed to John Dene immediately he returned.

CHAPTER XXI

MARJORIE ROGERS PAYS A CALL

"Well, mother darling," cried Dorothy, as she jerked the pins into her hat, "you've lost the odd trick."

"The odd trick!" repeated Mrs. West, looking up with a smile into her daughter's flushed and happy face. "What odd trick?"

"John Dene of Toronto. Whoop! I want to jazz. I wonder if he jazzes;" then, with a sudden change of mood she dropped down beside her mother's chair and buried her face in her lap. When she looked up her eyes were wet with tears. "Mother, darling, I'm so happy." She smiled a rainbow smile.

"What did you mean about the odd trick, dear?" enquired Mrs. West greatly puzzled, accustomed as she was to her daughter's rapid change of mood.

"John Dene's the odd trick," she repeated, "and I'm going to marry him." Again she hid her face.

"Dorothy!"

"I am, mother, really and really." She looked up for a moment, then once more she buried her face in her mother's lap.

"Dorothy dear, what do you mean?"

"Oh! he was so funny when he proposed," gurgled Dorothy, "and I just said 'shucks.' That seemed to please him."

"Dorothy dear, are you joking?"

"Not unless John Dene's a joke, mother dear," she replied. "Wouldn't it be funny to call him Jack?" Then she told her mother of the happenings of the afternoon.

"Please say you're glad," she said a little wistfully.

"I'm--I'm so surprised, dear," said Mrs. West, stroking her daughter's head gently; "but I'm glad, very glad."

"I thought you would be, and I shall be Lady Dene. Everybody at the Admiralty says he'll get a t.i.tle, and you'll have to say to the servants, 'Is her ladyship at home?' You won't forget, mother, will you?" She looked up with mock anxiety into her mother's face.

Mrs. West smiled down at Dorothy; her eyes too were wet.

"But oh! there's such a lot of spade work to be done," continued Dorothy. "I shall begin with his boots."

"His boots!"