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we were engaged, without consulting me?”
    Carey gasped as though he had flung cold water in her face. A healthy anger seethed within her. “Not that I did anything of the sort,” she snapped hotly, “but are you suggesting that we are not?”
    “It’s in Winchell’s column and my telephone has been ringing like mad all morning,” Ronnie said grimly. “I haven’t the slightest objection to an announcement — certainly not. Only I think it would have been a little more dignified if the news had been given to the society editors first, and by your father.”
    “Look who’s being dignified,” Carey hooted derisively, but her eyes were not amused.
    “That’s all very well for you, Carey. This sort of thing is a joke with you, of course,” snapped Ronnie, “but never mind that for the moment. What I telephoned you for was to remind you that there was to be a check in the mail this morning for the car — and there wasn’t. The showgirl is threatening to get nasty. It wasn’t my car, you know, nor is it my check — but it puts me in rather a spot.”
    “Oh,” Carey said remorsefully, “I’m sorry, Ronnie. I forgot. I’ll run down to Dad’s office now and get the check — ”
    “And meet me for tea,” said Ronnie. Now his voice was warm, caressing, so that her heart quivered. “And tonight after dinner you must get your father to telephone the society editors so that everything will be in order about our engagement. Then I’ll not feel such a fool when reporters ask me questions. ‘Bye, darling.”
    “Goodbye — dearest,” Carey said shakily.
    Hulda stared at her, too taken by surprise to realize that she was violating that ancient rule that says a servant must never show any human emotion in the presence of an employer.
    Carey slid into a fur jacket, adjusted a crazy little hat at an incredible angle above one shining gray eye, and caught up her bag and gloves. She met Hulda’s startled eyes, laughed joyously, hugged Hulda, and went dancing out.

Five
    SILAS’ OFFICE was in Wall Street. A huge place with forty people filling the big outer office, and with a small private office where Margaret Hendrix stood on guard outside her employer’s sumptuously furnished sanctum, dividing the sheep that Silas wanted to see from the goats that he didn’t want to see.
    Today when Carey, looking very smart and attractive in her rust-colored woolen dress, her fur jacket, and the crazy little hat, came dancing into the office, two junior clerks all but fell over themselves to swing open the gate set in the railing beyond Information’s desk.
    Margaret emerged and, to Carey’s unbounded amazement, barred the way into Silas’ office.
    “I’m sorry, Miss Carey,” said Margaret, and obviously wasn’t sorry at all, “but you can’t go in. Your father is in conference.”
    Carey laughed. “What’s it this time? Practicing new golf shots — or having an old-fashioned pow-wow with his dearest enemy?” She put out her hand to the door.
    Unexpectedly Margaret stood between her and the door, and Margaret said sternly, “You can’t go in, Miss Carey — no one can. A committee from the bank is in there about a vitally important matter. Your father is not to be interrupted under any circumstance.”
    “Oh, see here, Miss Hendrix,” Carey said hotly, “I’ve got to see Dad. It’s important. And I haven’t a whole lot of time. I’ve an engagement at five o’clock and I can just make it if I hurry.”
    “I’m sorry, Miss Carey — ”
    A stenographer stood at Margaret’s elbow with a paper. Margaret turned away for a moment to consult with the girl. Carey brushed past them and opened the door into her father’s office.
    For a moment she stood in the open door, paralyzed. Her father sat alone behind his mahogany desk. In one hand he held a short, squat automatic that he was just raising to his temple. Carey heard herself scream, then Margaret pushed her aside and sprang into the office.
    The outer