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A frown of annoyance appeared between T. A. Buck’s remarkably fine eyes. He came over to Mrs. McChesney and looked down at her.

“Look here, you’ll kill yourself. It’s all very well to be interested in one’s business, but I draw the line at ruining my digestion for it. Why in Sam Hill don’t you take a decent hour at least?”

“Only bricklayers can take an hour for lunch,” retorted Emma McChesney. “When you get to be a lady captain of finance you can’t afford it.”

She crossed to her desk and placed her fingers on the electric switch. The desk-light cast a warm golden glow on the smart little figure in the trim tailored suit, the pert hat, the shining furs. She was rosy- cheeked and bright-eyed as a schoolgirl. There was about her that vigor, and glow, and alert assurance which bespeaks congenial work, sound sleep, healthy digestion, and a sane mind. She was as tingling, and bracing, and alive, and antiseptic as the crisp, snappy November air outdoors.

T. A. Buck drew a long breath as he looked at her.

“Those are devastating clothes,” he remarked. “D’you know, until now I always had an idea that furs weren’t becoming to women. Make most of ’em look stuffy. But you–“

Emma McChesney glanced down at the shining skins of muff and scarf. She stroked them gently and lovingly with her gloved hand.

“M-m-m-m! These semi-precious furs are rather satisfactory–until you see a woman in sealskin and sables. Then you want to use ’em for a hall rug.”

T. A. Buck stepped within the radius of the yellow light, so that its glow lighted up his already luminous eyes–eyes that had a trick of translucence under excitement.

“Sables and sealskin,” repeated T. A. Buck, his voice vibrant. “If it’s those you want, you can–“

Snap! went the electric switch under Emma McChesney’s fingers. It was as decisive as a blow in the face. She walked to the door. The little room was dim.

“I’m sending my boy through college with my sealskin-and-sable fund,” she said crisply; “and I’m to meet him at 4:30.”

“Oh, that’s your appointment!” Relief was evident in T. A. Buck’s tone.

Emma McChesney shook a despairing head. “For impudent and unquenchable inquisitiveness commend me to a man! Here! If you must know, though I intended it as a surprise when it was finished and furnished–I’m going to rent a flat, a regular six-room, plenty-of-closets flat, after ten years of miserable hotel existence. Jock’s running over for two days to approve it. I ought to have waited until the holidays, so he wouldn’t miss classes; but I couldn’t bear to. I’ve spent ten Thanksgivings, and ten Christmases, and ten New Years in hotels. Hell has no terrors for me.”

They were walking down the corridor together.

“Take me along–please!” pleaded T. A. Buck, like a boy. “I know all about flats, and gas-stoves, and meters, and plumbing, and everything!”

“You!” scoffed Emma McChesney, “with your five-story house and your summer home in the mountains!”

“Mother won’t hear of giving up the house. I hate it myself. Bathrooms in those darned old barracks are so cold that a hot tub is an icy plunge before you get to it.” They had reached the elevator. A stubborn look appeared about T. A. Buck’s jaw. “I’m going!” he announced, and scudded down the hail to his office door. Emma McChesney pressed the elevator-button. Before the ascending car showed a glow of light in the shaft T. A. Buck appeared with hat, gloves, stick.

“I think the car’s downstairs. We’ll run up in it. What’s the address? Seventies, I suppose?”

Emma McChesney stepped out of the elevator and turned. “Car! Not I! If you’re bound to come with me you’ll take the subway. They’re asking enough for that apartment as it is. I don’t intend to drive up in a five-thousand-dollar motor and have the agent tack on an extra twenty dollars a month.”

T. . Buck smiled with engaging agreeableness. “Subway it is,” he said. “Your presence would turn even a Bronx train into a rose-garden.”

Twelve min
utes later the new apartment building, with its cream-tile and red-brick Louis Somethingth facade, and its tan brick and plaster Michael-Dougherty-contractor back, loomed before them, soaring even above its lofty neighbors. On the door-step stood a maple-colored giant in a splendor of scarlet, and gold braid, and glittering buttons. The great entrance door was opened for them by a half-portion duplicate of the giant outside. In the foyer was splendor to grace a palace hall. There were great carved chairs. There was a massive oaken table. There were rugs, there were hangings, there were dim-shaded lamps casting a soft glow upon tapestry and velours.