The office was high in a gigantic building.  Every one knew her by sight, the giant at the door and the men in the elevators.  Once in the office itself, a junior partner hurried to her side.

“So glad to see Vincent back again,” he said, proud of the fact that he called his present partner and late employer by his first name.  “You want to see him?” There was a short hesitation.  “He left word not to be disturbed—­”

“Who is there?” Adelaide asked.

“Dr. Parret.”

“He’s not been taken ill?”

He tried to reassure her, but Adelaide, without waiting or listening, moved at once to Vincent’s door and opened it.  As she did so she heard, him laughing and then she saw that he was laughing at the words of the handsomest woman she had ever seen.  A great many people had this first impression of Lily Parret.  Lily was standing on the opposite side of the table from him, leaning with both palms flat on the polished wood, telling him some continued narrative that made her blue eyes shine and her dimples deepen.

Adelaide was not temperamentally jealous.  She did not, like Vincent, hate and fear any person or thing or idea that drew his attention away; on the contrary, she wanted him to give his full attention to anything that would make for his power and success.  She was not jealous, but it did cross her mind that she was looking now at her successor.

They stopped laughing as she entered, and Vincent said: 

“Thank you, Dr. Parret, you have given me just what I wanted.”

“Marty would just as lief as not stick a knife in me if he knew,” said Lily, not as if she were afraid, but as if this was one of the normal risks of her profession.  She turned to Adelaide, “O Mrs. Farron, I’ve heard of you from Pete Wayne.  Isn’t he perfectly delightful?  But, then, he ought to be with such a mother.”

Adelaide had a very useful smile, which could maintain a long, but somewhat meaningless, brilliance.  She employed it now, and it lasted until Lily had gone.

“That’s a very remarkable girl,” said Farron, remembrances of smiles still on his lips.

“Does she think every one perfect?”

“Almost every one; that’s how she keeps going at such a rate.”

“How long have you known her?”

“About ten minutes.  Pete got her here.  She knew something about Marty that I needed.”  He spoke as if he was really interested in the business before him; he did not betray by so much as a glance the recognition that they were alone, though she was calling his attention to the fact by every line of her figure and expression of her face.  She saw his hand move on his desk.  Was it coming to hers?  He rang a bell.  “Is Burke in the outer office?  Send him in.”

Adelaide’s heart began to beat as Marty, in his working-clothes, entered.  He was more suppressed and more sulky than she had yet seen him.

“I’ve been trying to see you, Mr. Farron,” he began; but Vincent cut in: