be of service to your daughter, Mr. Calendar," he said, placing the emphasis with becoming gravity. And then, the fat adventurer leading the way, Kirkwood strode across the room—wondering somewhat at himself, if the whole truth is to be disclosed. III CALENDAR'S DAUGHTER All but purring with satisfaction and relief, Calendar halted. "Dorothy, my dear, permit me to introduce an old friend—Mr. Kirkwood. Kirkwood, this is my daughter." "Miss Calendar," acknowledged Kirkwood. The girl bowed, her eyes steady upon his own. "Mr. Kirkwood is very kind," she said gravely. "That's right!" Calendar exclaimed blandly. "He's promised to see you home. Now both of you will pardon my running away, I know." "Yes," assented Kirkwood agreeably. The elder man turned and hurried toward the main entrance. Kirkwood took the chair he had vacated. To his disgust he found himself temporarily dumb. No flicker of thought illuminated the darkness of his confusion. How was he to open a diverting conversation with a young woman whom he had met under auspices so extraordinary? Any attempt to gloze the situation, he felt, would be futile. And, somehow, he did not care to render himself ridiculous in her eyes, little as he knew her. Inanely dumb, he sat watching her, smiling fatuously until it was borne in on him that he was staring like a boor and grinning like an idiot. Convinced, he blushed for himself; something which served to make him more tongue-tied than ever. As for his involuntary protégée, she exhibited such sweet composure that he caught himself wondering if she really appreciated the seriousness of her parent's predicament; if, for that matter, its true nature were known to her at all. Calendar, he believed, was capable of prevarication, polite and impolite. Had he lied to his daughter? or to Kirkwood? To both, possibly; to the former alone, not improbably. That the adventurer had told him the desperate truth, Kirkwood was quite convinced; but he now began to believe that the girl had been put off with
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