"Why, that's substantially all, to date," returned the New Yorker, dishonestly; "except that I've been sent up here to see what I can do to improve our position in Boston."

"Ah! Who sent you? Who is in charge of the Guardian now?" continued Miss Maitland, calmly.

"Mr. Wintermuth, of course," replied her victim.

"And under Mr. Wintermuth? Has no one been elected to fill Mr.

Gunterson's place?"

"Well, you see, Mr. Gunterson only resigned a few days ago. Boards of directors don't as a rule move very rapidly. There hasn't really been a great deal of time."

"Who has been elected to fill Mr. Gunterson's place?"

"Are you under the impression that--?"

"Do you wish me to say it again? Who has been elected Vice-President of the Guardian?"

"A man," said her visitor slowly, "by the name of Smith."

Helen leaned back in her chair in mock exhaustion.

"That was certainly awfully difficult," she said, with a little laugh of triumph. "I thought you would never admit it."

"I suppose you'd have found it out sometime, anyway," Smith said philosophically.

"No, you're wrong," his companion denied, "for the very good and simple reason that I already knew it."

"You knew it! And yet you put me through this cross-examination?"

Helen nodded complacently.

"Uncle Silas told me this afternoon."

"But how did he know? No announcement has been made."

"Mr. Wintermuth wrote him."

"Well," said Smith, "no ring master with a long, cracking whip ever made a reluctant poodle jump through a series of hoops in a more professional manner than you put me through my little story."

"Yes," said Helen, demurely. Then, growing suddenly more serious, she said, "And won't you let me congratulate you, Mr. Vice-President?"

"I will," said Smith. "There is no one I know by whom I would rather be congratulated."

He took in his own her offered hand, and for just a moment an enchanted silence abode in the room. Then, with no effort on Smith's part to detain her, Helen withdrew her hand.

"Now I can tell you about Uncle Silas and Charlie Wilkinson," she said.

"And both are so interesting as topics that I hardly know where to begin."

"Begin with Mr. Osgood, please," her visitor suggested.

"Very well, then. I have been seeing quite a little of Uncle Silas lately. After he turned over the management of his business to Bennington Cole, it seems as if he hardly knew what to do with himself.

For many years he has been such a busy man that this leisure has left him at a loss to pa.s.s his time. So he has been playing around with me to some extent. We have had lots of long talks together; among other subjects we have even discussed you."

"So I learn," Smith responded.

"Don't be saturnine," the girl rejoined. "Seriously, though, while I've enjoyed Uncle's Silas's society, I don't believe this idleness is good for him. In fact, I'm rather worried about him--I think having nothing to do makes him despondent, for it makes him feel as though his day's work was over. And there's no reason why it should be. He's not really old, although he looks rather frail, and I believe he'd be better and happier if he went back into business now."

"Why doesn't he, then?" the other asked. "He still retains his interest in the agency, doesn't he?"

"Yes, I believe so. But it's largely a matter of pride with him. He retired because it was necessary for the firm to resign the Guardian, and I doubt whether he would go back unless it could be arranged that the Guardian go back too. Can't you arrange it?"

"Well, hardly--that is, right away," Smith replied. "Present conditions are about the same as when the company left the Osgood agency, but I feel more encouraged, myself, to believe there may be a way around. I'll call on Mr. Osgood to-morrow the first thing I do--no, the second."

"What is the first?--if I may ask."

"To close the agency of our present Boston representatives, Messrs.

Sternberg, Bloom, and McCoy. And now tell me the news about Mr.

Charles Wilkinson, the hero of the Hurd trolley schedule."

"Mr. Wilkinson is about to extend his responsibilities in connection with the Hurd family."

"You don't mean that old John M. Hurd was so impressed that he--?"

"Quite another thing. Undoubtedly Mr. Hurd was impressed with Mr.

Wilkinson's talents as an insurance broker, but scarcely to the extent of desiring him for a son-in-law."

"A son-in-law! You mean--"

"That Charlie got a trolley schedule and a fiancee out of the same family."

"Well, well! So Miss Hurd is going to marry Wilkinson! Well, she'll acquire an ingenious and enterprising husband, at any rate. And what does John M. say?"

"Not a great deal--he's quite laconic, as usual. But what little he says is very much to the point. He says he had supposed a daughter of his would have more sense. However, since she hasn't, he can merely state that he withholds his consent to the match. Isabel's of age, and if she chooses to marry Charlie she can do so, but without approval or a.s.sistance from her father."

"Meaning," said Smith, "an unpleasant codicil in the paternal last will and testament, providing that instead of a previous bequest, his beloved daughter be paid two hundred dollars a month as long as she lives. What does Wilkinson say to Mr. Hurd's att.i.tude? One might gather that it would make a certain difference with him, for, although Miss Hurd is certainly very attractive, I somehow gained the general impression that your friend Charlie had a very clear eye on the main chance."

"Isabel doesn't seem a bit disturbed, for I think she antic.i.p.ated her father's point of view; and as for Charlie, seeing that his chief source of income at present depends wholly on the favor of a man who is angry enough to disinherit his daughter for wanting to marry him--well, one would expect that Charlie would be depressed, or at least thoughtful. But not at all. He's in the highest of spirits, and says that the mere rumor that he is going to marry into the Hurd family will establish a line of credit good enough to last ten years."

"But really--isn't the young man a bit mercurial?"

"Oh, awfully! To tell the truth, I was a little surprised when Isabel took him, for under her society manner she's very sensible and self-controlled. And yet Charlie's very attractive and amusing and really clever at times, and she is just the kind of girl that ought to take hold of him and tactfully make him amount to something. She'll be the best thing in the world for him."

"I wonder why a man almost always falls in love either with a girl who is just the sort or not at all the sort he should have selected. It's always one or the other--never any middle course. I wonder what kind of girl you would say was just the sort for me."

"One would have to know a man extremely well to venture a suggestion on such a point, don't you think?" Miss Maitland parried.

"Perhaps," Smith agreed. "And after all, since I can't myself say exactly what sort of girl would be most perfectly suited to my special peculiarities, it would be a little unreasonable to expect any one else to do so."

His companion gave a suppressed sigh of relief that a subject which might have developed elements of high hazard seemed now to be avoided.

She was not quite sure what she thought of the man before her, but she knew that he seemed strong and vital and sincere. From Mr. Osgood she had learned that other people of considerable discrimination held a like opinion.