When half an hour had passed Bill was still talking, and Mary had confirmed certain tentative impressions concerning his respect for the opinions of Aunt Caroline; or, rather, not so much for her opinions as for her authority. She saw that Bill had substantial reasons for at least an outward semblance of acquiescence in his aunt's plans.

Bill found that it was quite easy to talk to his secretary. She was an attentive, accurate listener; she seldom interrupted him with questions. She simply sat and absorbed things, with her hands folded in her lap and her whole posture that of trained concentration. Out of her gray eyes she would watch him steadily, but not in a disconcerting way. There was nothing in her eyes that should not have been there, not even one of those quizzical flashes that had temporarily unsettled him the afternoon before. To say that she was demure might, perhaps, suggest the artificiality of a pose; therefore, she was not demure. She was simply decorous, in a perfectly natural way.

"So, then," Bill was saying, "my idea is this: Not being in society, and never having been there, naturally I can't take a running jump into the middle of it. An outsider has to be eased in, I don't care who his family is, unless he's a foreigner. In my case it ought to take some time to fight my way through the preliminaries. Now, I'm not saying yet that I'll go in, mind you. But I'm willing to see the thing started. I don't want you to get the idea that I'm pigheaded. I might change my mind."

He knew that he wouldn't, but Mary nodded.

"So, why not go ahead with the job and see what comes of it? That's playing square with Aunt Caroline, I'm sure. Later on, if the time comes when it's all off, we'll go and tell her so and ask for a new deal. How about it? Fair enough?"

"Yes," said Mary, slowly, "that seems to be fair—provided you're sincere."

"Miss Norcross, I'm the soul of sincerity."

For that protestation she suspected him, yet she did not feel justified in pressing scruples too far. She was not a hypocrite.

"If you are really going to try it, then, I suppose you will have need of a secretary."

"My idea exactly," said Bill heartily. "Shake."

She shook.

"I'm glad that's settled," he declared, with a comfortable stretch. "Now we can talk about something else."

Mary's eyebrows went up almost imperceptibly.

"Seen the 'Follies' yet?" asked Bill. "No? Say don't miss it. I've been twice. Think I'll go again, too. Lot of good shows in town, but I'm 'way behind on them."

He was regarding her with such a speculative eye that Mary felt the need of a change of subject. She arose and began removing her hat.

"I think I had better go to work," she said.

"Work? Oh, sure; I forgot. Certainly. Er—what at?"

"We might start on your correspondence," she suggested.

"I'm game. Who'll we write to?"

"Why—how should I know, Mr. Marshall? That's for you to say."

Bill rubbed his ear.

"Hanged if I know who to write to," he mused. "I never had the habit. I suppose it's done regularly—in society."

"It is considered quite important to attend promptly to all correspondence," said Mary. That was a safe generalization, she thought, applicable to society as well as business.

Bill began fumbling in a coat-pocket and eventually drew forth some papers.

"I haven't had a letter in a week," he said. "You see, what I get mostly is bills. Aunt Caroline attends to those. But here's a letter I got last week; we could begin on that, I suppose."

He drew it out of the envelope and then shook his head.

"Too late, I'm afraid. The party was last night. I had another date and didn't go."

"But you sent them word, of course."

"No, indeed; never bothered about it."

Mary looked disturbed; her sense of order was really offended.

"I think that was very wrong," she observed.

"Oh, they'll get over it," said Bill easily. "It was only a poker outfit, anyhow."

"Oh."

Bill finished examining his papers and tossed them into the fireplace.

"Not a thing in the world that needs an answer," he sighed contentedly. "Ever occur to you, Miss Norcross, that there's a lot of paper wasted? If people would only put letters in their pockets and carry them for a couple of weeks, nine-tenths of them wouldn't need to be answered."

Mary was frowning.

"After this I hope you'll let me take charge of your mail," she said.

"It's all yours," said Bill generously. "I never get anything interesting, anyhow. Now, what'll we do?"

The situation was perplexing to her. She could not sit all morning simply talking to him; that might be social but not secretarial. There was a business relation to be preserved.

"You might plan out things," she suggested. "Give me your ideas about your—your——"

"Career?" he asked, with elaborate irony, and she nodded.

"Not for anything," said Bill. "I haven't any ideas. That's your part of it. I'm going to let you handle the planning along with the correspondence. You've got more dope on it than I have. You're the manager, or maybe the chaperon. I'm only the dÉbutante."

As Mary regarded this large and impossible dÉbutante the mere suggestion of chaperoning him appalled her.

"But surely you've got some suggestions," she said.

"Not a solitary one. Where would I get any? I've been on the outside all my life, not even looking in. Is it all right for me to smoke? Thanks. No; it's up to you. But remember—there's no rush. Don't get the idea I'm driving you. Why, you can take all the time in the world. Take six months; take a year. Think it over."

"A year!" echoed Mary. "But you ought to start right away."

"Why?"

"Why—so you can enjoy the—er—advantages of society."

"Well, Mr. Bones—I mean Miss Norcross, of course—what are the advantages of society?"

He stood against the mantel, his feet spread wide, his hands deep in his pockets, staring down at her with a challenging grin.

Mary became confused. Her soul was crying out in protest at the unfairness of it. What did she know about the advantages of society? And yet she must know. Was it possible he suspected her? Any social secretary ought to have the advantages of society at the tip of her tongue.

"It seems to me they're obvious," she said, with desperate carelessness. "I shouldn't think it would be necessary to make a list of them."

"It is with me," said Bill mercilessly. "I've got to be shown. Come on, now; you're an expert. We'll take them one at a time. What's the first?"

"—I wouldn't know which to put first."

"Take 'em in any order you like, then. Name the first you happen to think of."

Mary was growing pink under the freckles. Never in her life had she felt so helpless or so absurd. It was deliberate teasing, she knew; but she must not permit herself to be teased. She must have poise and self-possession; literally, she must know everything he asked, or at any rate have an answer.

"Shoot," said Bill cheerfully. "I'm all attention."

That was just the trouble, thought Mary. She was fearing now that she would fly into a temper, which would ruin everything.

"Well," she said slowly. "I would say that one of the advantages is in meeting people who are trained to be considerate of your feelings."

Nor was she ready to bite off her tongue after she said it. He had no right to treat her that way. She hoped he would understand.

And Bill did. His eyes widened for an instant and his cheeks reddened. Then he laughed.

"That one landed good and plenty," he said admiringly. "I like the way you snap your punches. Next time I'll know when it's coming. A second ago I wasn't sure whether you were going to continue the footwork or step in and hang one on me."

"What in the world——" Mary faltered in her bewilderment.

"It's just a way of apologizing," he explained. "It's what you might call an allegorical apology. I don't know just how they would say it in society, but whatever they say goes. I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings by teasing you."

"Oh, it's all right," said Mary hastily, although she noted that he was sorry for hurting her feelings, not because he had been teasing.

"I'll try to remember after this," continued Bill. "Of course, you really stirred things up yourself by saying I ought to start right away. You don't seem to realize what a job it's going to be. I can't help you any. When I think of the amount of creative work that's falling on your shoulders I stagger in sympathy, Miss Norcross. Honestly I do. No; I'm not joshing you again. I'm serious. Where do you begin to get a guy like me into society? How do I pry in? What have I got to do to be saved?"

Mary smiled in spite of a determination to maintain a dignified view-point.

"It will not be so difficult as you think. I'm quite sure of that, Mr. Marshall. If I may suggest——"

As she stopped she was looking in the direction of the door. Bill turned and beheld his valet, standing well inside the threshold. Pete was meek and smug, his hands clasped in front of him, as he fetched an obsequious bow.

"Knock before you enter a room," said Bill sharply.

"I did, sir."

Bill knew that he lied, but the point was not worth arguing.

"I have finished with your clothes, sir."

"Well, why disturb me about it."

"You said you were in a hurry, sir."

Pete gave the "sir" an annoying twist. Also, he had a way of fixing his gaze upon Mary, not boldly or offensively, but with a sort of mild persistence that had an even more irritating effect upon Bill Marshall.

"You said something about errands, sir, after I finished with your clothes," Pete reminded him.

"I'll talk to you about that later. You needn't wait."

But Pete lingered. The social secretary turned away and began examining a book that lay on a table. As she did so, Bill made a violent gesture to his valet. It was intended to convey a demand for instant exit, also a threat of events to come if it was not obeyed. Pete favored him with a wide smile and a wink. Mary moved across the room to examine a picture, bringing the valet again within her range of vision. The smile vanished instantly.

"May I make a suggestion, sir?"

"Well?" Bill demanded.

"I could not help but overhear a part of the conversation, sir," said Pete. "It was about the difficulties of getting a social introduction."

Both Bill and Mary were regarding him speculatively, and each was wondering how long he had been listening. But the valet remained unabashed.

"Well?" repeated Bill ominously.

"I might say, sir, that I agree with the young lady—that it will not be so difficult as you think. If I may make bold, sir——"

Bill halted him with a sternly raised hand. He would have preferred to choke him, but valets were not commonly choked in the presence of young ladies. He could do it much better later.

"That will be all from you," barked Bill. "I do not wish any advice from the servants. Leave the room."

But Pete lingered. He even sent an appealing look in the direction of Mary, who showed obvious signs of puzzled interest in the encounter.

"Leave the room!"

Bill followed the remark with a stride. He felt both angry and ridiculous. But Pete was holding his ground with an air of sleek and pious fortitude.

"Your aunt, sir, thought there was much promise in the idea," he said.

Bill halted.

"What idea?"

"A suggestion that I made about you, sir."

Bill groaned in the depths of his soul. Now what had happened? What new devilment had been set afoot by Pete Stearns? Well, he would soon find out, but not here—not in the presence of his social secretary. He must brazen it out for the moment:

"You mean to tell me you have dared discuss my affairs with my aunt?"

"At her request, sir," answered Pete, lifting a deprecating hand. "I should not have dreamed of volunteering, sir."

Bill was almost ready to believe him; yes, in all probability it was a horrible truth. Doubtless Aunt Caroline had actually asked for his advice. She was capable of that folly since she had acquired the notion that Pete Stearns was an uplifting influence.

"Well, you won't discuss them with me," roared Bill. "Get out!"

The valet shrugged and looked sorrowful.

"Perhaps if I talked the matter over with the young lady, sir——"

Bill made a rush, but his valet was several jumps in the lead as he sped out into the hall. The pursuer stopped at the threshold and turned back into the room.

"Oh, damnation!" he cried. "Oh, why in—— Say, wait a minute! Please, Miss Norcross. Awfully sorry; forgot you were here. I apologize. I didn't mean——"

But she, too, was gone. Not for the reason that Bill feared, however. She was hurrying to see Aunt Caroline. She wanted an idea.

She never needed an idea so badly in her life.