Again it was the maid who answered, and at the expected query she smiled outright.  It seemed to her a capital joke that she was assisting in playing upon this man of unusual attire.

“Miss Baker is engaged,” she announced, with the glibness of previous preparation.

To her surprise the visitor did not depart.  Instead, he gave her a look which sent her mirth glimmering.

“Very well,” he said.  The door leading into the vestibule and from thence into the library was open, and without form of invitation he entered.  “Tell her, please, that I will wait until she is not engaged.”

The girl hesitated.  This particular exigency had not been anticipated.

“Shall I give her a name?” she suggested, with an attempt at formality.

Ben Blair did not turn.  “Tell her what I said.”

He chose a chair facing the entrance and sat down.  Departing on her mission, he heard the maid open another door on the same floor.  There was for a moment a murmur of feminine voices, one of which he recognized; then silence again, as the door closed.

A half-hour passed, lengthened into an hour, all but repeated itself, and still apparently Florence was engaged; and still the visitor sat on.  No power short of fire or an earthquake could have moved him now.  Every fragment of the indomitable perseverance of his nature was aroused, and instead of discouraging him each minute as it passed only made his determination the stronger.  He shifted his chair so that it faced the window and the street, crossed his legs comfortably, half closed his eyes, resting yet watchful, and meditatively observed the growing procession of homeward bound wage-earners in car and on foot.

Suddenly there was the rustle of a woman’s skirts, and he was conscious that he was no longer alone.  He turned as he saw who it was, sprang to his feet, and despite the intentional slight of the long wait, a smile flashed to his face.  He started to advance, but stopped.

“You wished to see me, I understand,” a voice said coldly, as the speaker halted just within the doorway.

Ben Blair straightened.  The hot blood mounted to his brain, throbbing at his throat and temples.  It was not easy for him to receive insult; but outwardly he gave no sign.

“I think I have demonstrated the fact you mention,” he replied calmly.

Florence Baker clasped her hands together.  “Yes, your persistency is admirable,” she said.

Ben Blair caught the word.  “Persistency,” he remarked, “seems the only recourse when past friendship and common courtesy are ignored.”

Florence made no reply, and going forward Ben placed a chair deferentially.  “It seems necessary for me to reverse the position of host and guest,” he said.  “Won’t you be seated?”

The girl did not stir.

“I hardly think it necessary,” she answered.

“Florence,” Ben Blair’s great chin lifted meaningly, “I will not be offended whatever you may do.  I have something I wish to say to you.  Please sit down.”