Nell Norcross—the real one—was sitting up in bed, unmistakably convalescent. She had been listening to the adventures of Mary Wayne; not all of the adventures, for Mary did not believe it was wise to subject a patient to too much excitement, yet enough to convey the idea that the introduction of Bill Marshall into society was not an affair of mere toast and tea.

"I feel," said Mary, "that at last I'm in a position to accomplish something. I feel more established than I did at the beginning."

"More influential," suggested Nell.

"Exactly. You see, I have such strong moral support from Miss Marshall."

"And from this valet you speak about," Nell reminded her.

"I'm not so sure about him. He puzzles me." There was a calculating look in Mary's eyes. "He keeps telling me that he wants to help, but I'm always doubtful as to just what he is really driving at. But he won't block me, at any rate; I'm able to take care of that."

"Then everything looks quite simple, doesn't it?"

"No, Nell; everything doesn't. That's the trouble. I'm in a strategic position, if that's what you'd call it, but I don't know how to take advantage of it."

"Then wait for an opening," advised Nell. "One is bound to come."

Mary shook her head.

"I can't afford to wait," she said. "I could wait forever, as far as Mr. Marshall is concerned, but I can see that his aunt is becoming impatient. She thinks it is time that something really began."

"What does she suggest, my dear?"

"Nothing. That's the worst of it. She leaves it all to me. She is so confident that I know everything there is to know about such matters. She wants me to go right ahead with anything I decide upon. And if I ever express any doubt about what to do first, she begins talking about those wonderful references of mine—yours—and says that any young woman with such an experience is competent to take full charge without suggestions from anybody. And I don't know how to start, Nell, or what to do."

"She is really impressed by the references, is she?" mused Nell.

"Tremendously."

"Then it's certain you've got to make good."

"Oh, absolutely. So that's why I've come to bother you."

Nell was thoughtfully regarding a plate of white grapes that lay on her lap.

"So tell me how to start him off," said Mary.

"H-m; let's see now. I never launched a man in society," said Nell, wrinkling her nose. "I never was secretary to a man, you know. I imagine they may be more difficult than girls."

"This one is," affirmed Mary, with an emphatic nod. "He's so—so big, for one thing."

"Men are awfully awkward to handle," philosophized Nell.

"I didn't say he was awkward; you misunderstood me. I merely said he was big; he thinks he's too big for society. Of course, he isn't at all. He handles himself very well."

"Can he dance?"

"He says not. But I'm not sure."

"Why don't you try him out?"

"I'd rather not," said Mary hastily. "I don't think that's one of my duties."

"Anything is your duty that will get him into society, my dear."

"We-e-ell, possibly. But we're getting off the track, Nell. What am I to do with him?"

"Now, if he were a girl dÉbutante, just being introduced, why—— There! It's the very thing for him! Give him a coming-out party."

"I'm afraid he wouldn't endure it," said Mary. "He's terribly afraid of being mistaken for what he calls Rollo boys. If I planned a coming out party he'd probably disappear for a month. The very name would make him explode."

"Don't call it by that name," said Nell. "Don't call it any name particularly. Just have a party; at the house, of course. Invite all the nice people you can get hold of. Let's see; there ought to be some particular reason for the party. I've got it! He's about to make a tour of the world, having finished his studies at college. This gives him an opportunity to meet and entertain his friends before he starts, and also furnishes something for everybody to talk about."

Mary nodded as she listened. The idea sounded promising. But——

"Who will we invite, Nell?"

"His friends, of course."

"I'm afraid his friends are not in society," sighed Mary, as the vision of a tin ear flashed into her mind.

"Then his aunt's friends. She must know a lot of society people."

"I don't think she has kept up her acquaintances."

"That won't make a particle of difference, my dear. Miss Caroline Marshall bears a name that will get her anywhere she wants to go. And it will do as much for her nephew, too. It's a key that will open any society lock; don't worry about that. Why, you could invite people that Miss Marshall never met, and nine out of ten of them would jump at the chance. Give him a party and it can't fail."

"I really believe it can be done," said Mary thoughtfully.

"Easiest thing in the world."

"It will be a party, then. And now tell me all about the details."

But when it came to details, Nell was less satisfying. She pleaded that she was sleepy; the doctor had told her she must not talk too long. Besides, anybody could work out the details.

"The main thing is the idea," she said with a careless gesture. "I've given you that. All you have to do is to develop it. Make him help you; he'll probably have a lot of suggestions of his own."

"You haven't met him," declared Mary.

"I'd like to. He must be an extraordinary character."

"I never said so, did I?"

"No. But judging by the way you're all fussed up over this thing——"

"Bosh!" said Mary, rising. "I'm not a bit fussed. It's as easy as anything."

But all the way back to the Marshall home Mary was reflecting upon the difficulties, rather than the ease of the problem. The first thing to do was to obtain the consent of Bill Marshall. It would be no use to consult Aunt Caroline; that good lady would simply tell her to go right ahead and do exactly as she pleased. She might, of course, call upon Aunt Caroline to give Bill his orders in case he balked; but that would be a confession of her own weakness.

"I've got to persuade him myself," she decided, "even if it comes to being ruthless."

Just as she had foreseen, Bill objected strenuously and at once. He did not want a party; he was not going around the world. But if she insisted on having a lot of silly people at the house, he would start around the world before they arrived, and he would never come back. Mary argued with much patience. She even pointed out the danger that his aunt might be driven back upon the plan suggested by his valet, Peter. But Bill was in a particularly obdurate mood. Faced at last with a definite project, he quailed.

"We'll just let things drift a while," he told her.

"No," said Mary.

Bill grinned at her in an amiable way and said he thought he would go out for a ride.

"We're going to settle it," she declared. "You promised you'd let me start."

"But I never said when."

"Well, this is the time, Mr. Marshall. We'll start now."

Bill shook his head. Mary, who faced him across the table in the sun parlor, tapped a forefinger on the writing-pad and looked him in the eye.

"Mr. Marshall," she said, "if you do not consent I shall be compelled to go to your bondsman, withdraw from your bond and advise him to surrender you to the court."

Bill gasped. He swallowed. He stared.

"And I shall do it this very afternoon," said Mary.

"It isn't fair," he cried. "Why, you agreed——"

"I simply agreed not to say anything to your aunt," she reminded him, coldly. "And I shall not, of course. But I am entirely at liberty to go to your bondsman. If your aunt should happen to hear about it when they come to arrest you again, why that would be unfortunate. But it would be something that could not be helped."

Bill rose from his chair and leaned heavily on the table. He was red in the face and glaring, but his secretary did not even wince.

"You're threatening me!" he almost shouted.

Mary shrugged.

"It's blackmail, I tell you!"

"On the contrary, it will all be strictly according to law," said Mary with appalling calmness.

"Pete put you up to this!"

"I am not in the habit of discussing social affairs with your valet."

"Then it's Aunt Caroline."

"No. Your aunt left everything to me."

Bill began shaking a formidable finger, but the table was between them and Mary felt no immediate cause for apprehension.

"I'll never stand for it. I won't have a party. I won't be here when it happens. You're swinging a club on me. And last night I thought you were a good sport!"

"I merely intend to earn my salary," said Mary. "I make no pretensions to being a sport. I could never hope to equal—— Well, we won't go into the sporting phase of it, if you please."

Bill was momentarily brought to halt. Then came another inspiration.

"Call this off and I'll double your salary," he announced.

Mary shook her head.

"That's offering me a bribe," she said. "Besides, I believe your aunt pays my salary."

"I'll make up the difference out of my allowance."

"No, thank you."

Bill had never learned the science of dealing with women. There are about 350,000,000 grown men in the world, all exactly like Bill. So, while he felt that he had been singled out as the sole victim of a Machiavellian female, in reality he had all mankind for a companion. The sheer hopelessness of his plight made him calm again.

"You admit that you're my secretary, don't you?" he asked.

Mary nodded.

"Then I'm entitled to your advice. Isn't that so?"

"Yes," answered Mary, cautiously. "I wouldn't volunteer advice, but if you ask it, that's different."

"All right; I ask it. Advise me how I can duck this party."

Mary laughed outright.

"I couldn't possibly. I can only advise you that there isn't any way in the world to duck it. And that's honest advice, Mr. Marshall."

He resumed his chair and began drawing diagrams on a sheet of paper. This occupation absorbed all his attention for several minutes. When he glanced up he was grinning helplessly.

"Some day I'll get even for this," he said, "but right now I'll admit you've got me. Go ahead, but don't rub it into me any more than you have to."

"Why, of course I won't," declared Mary heartily. "All along I've been trying to save you from getting into society another way."

Bill nodded an acknowledgment of the fact.

"What date shall it be?" she asked.

"The quicker the better. I never got warmed up standing on the edge of a swimming tank, wondering how cold the water was."

"We'll make it as early as possible, then. Do you think it ought to be a large party?"

"No!"

"Neither do I," agreed Mary. "But it ought to be exclusive—very exclusive."

"Are you reminding me of something?"

"No," laughed Mary. "I wasn't thinking of that. Now, about the invitations: do you think they should be engraved, or would it be a little better to write personal notes to everybody?"

"That's your end of the job. How do I know?"

"I think perhaps I'd better consult one or two of the fashionable stationers," said Mary. "I want to find out just what they're doing this season."

Bill looked at his watch.

"All right; let's go and see the stationers now."

"It's almost lunch-time, isn't it?"

"Almost. That's why I want to go and see the stationers."

"Oh," said Mary.

"Come along. You owe me something after what you've done."

She smiled at that, although she was not quite certain whether she ought to go. Still, he had really surrendered, and she felt rather grateful to him.

"All right; I'll get my hat," she said.

Five minutes later they were moving up Fifth Avenue in Bill's car.

"Would you honestly have turned me over to the bondsman?" he asked suddenly.

"Let's talk about stationery," she reminded him. "I suppose for a man it ought to be plain white."

Bill turned to study her and bumped fenders with a taxicab.

"Pink," he declared.

"Pink! For a man?"

"Pink, with little freckles on it," he said, taking another look.

Mary lifted her chin and watched the traffic. Presently he turned into a side street and ran on for half a block.

"Anyhow, here's where we take lunch," he announced.