He curled himself up upon the deep window sill while Pendleton went back to his chair and the tobacco.

“It’s a lady,” resumed Pendleton, the brown paper crackling between his fingers, “a lady of condition, quality and beauty.”

“It sounds pleasant enough,” smiled the other.  “But why is she coming?”

“To consult you—­ah—­I suppose we might call it—­professionally.  No, I don’t know what it is about; but judging from her manner, it is something of no little consequence.”

“She sent you to prepare the way for her, then?”

“Yes.  It is Miss Edyth Vale, daughter of James Vale, the ’Structural Steel King,’ you remember they used to call him before he died a few years ago.  She was an only child, and except for the four millions which he left to found a technical school, she inherited everything.  And when you say everything in a case like this, it means considerable.”

Ashton-Kirk nodded.

“She is a distant relative of mine,” resumed Pendleton; “her mother was connected in some vague way with my mother; and because of this indefinite link, we’ve always been”—­here he hesitated for an instant—­“well, rather friendly.  Last night we happened to meet at Upton’s, and I took her in to dinner.  Edyth is a nice girl, but I’ve noticed of late that she’s not had a great deal to say.  Sort of quiet and big-eyed and all that, you know.  Seems healthy enough, but does a great deal of thinking and looking away at nothing.  I’ve talked to her for ten minutes straight, only to find that she hadn’t heard a word I’d said.

“So, as you will understand, I did not expect a great deal of her at dinner.  But directly across from us was young Cartwright—­”

“Employed in the Treasury Department?”

“That’s the man.  Well, he began to talk departmental affairs with some one well down the table—­you know how some of these serious kids are—­and as there seemed to be nothing else to do, I gave my whole attention to the interesting performance of Mrs. Upton’s cook.  I must have been falling into a dreamy rapture; but at any rate I suddenly awoke, so to speak.  To my surprise Edyth was talking—­quite animatedly—­with Cartwright, and about you.”

“Ah!” said Ashton-Kirk.  “That’s very pleasant.  It is not given to every man that the mention of him should stir a melancholy young lady into animation.”

“Have you done anything in your line for the Treasury Department lately?” asked Pendleton.

“Oh, a small matter of some duplicate plates,” said Ashton-Kirk.  “It had some interest, but there was nothing extraordinary in it.”

“Well, Cartwright didn’t think that.  I did not come to in time to catch the nature of your feat, but he seemed lost in admiration of your cleverness.  He was quite delighted, too, at securing Edyth’s attention.  You see, it was a thing he had scarcely hoped for.  So he proceeded to relate all he had ever heard about you.  That queer little matter of the Lincoln death-mask, you know, and the case of the Belgian Consul and the spurious Van Dyke.  And he had even heard some of the things you did in the university during your senior year.  His recital of your recovery of the silver figure of the Greek runner which went as the Marathon prize in 1902 made a great hit, I assure you.