Ryder laughed good humouredly.  It was decidedly a novel sensation to have someone lecturing him.

“I’m studying you,” he said, “but I don’t seem to make much headway.  A woman like you whose mind isn’t spoiled by the amusement habit has great possibilities—­great possibilities.  Do you know you’re the first woman I ever took into my confidence—­I mean at sight?” Again he fixed her with that keen glance which in his business life had taught him how to read men.  He continued:  “I’m acting on sentiment—­something I rarely do, but I can’t help it.  I like you, upon my soul I do, and I’m going to introduce you to my wife—­my son—­”

He took the telephone from his desk as if he were going to use it.

“What a commander-in-chief you would have made—­how natural it is for you to command,” exclaimed Shirley in a burst of admiration that was half real, half mocking.  “I suppose you always tell people what they are to do and how they are to do it.  You are a born general.  You know I’ve often thought that Napoleon and Caesar and Alexander must have been great domestic leaders as well as imperial rulers.  I’m sure of it now.”

Ryder listened to her in amazement.  He was not quite sure if she were making fun of him or not.

“Well, of all—­” he began.  Then interrupting himself he said amiably:  “Won’t you do me the honour to meet my family?”

Shirley smiled sweetly and bowed.

“Thank you, Mr. Ryder, I will.”

She rose from her seat and leaned over the manuscripts to conceal the satisfaction this promise of an introduction to the family circle gave her.  She was quick to see that it meant more visits to the house, and other and perhaps better opportunities to find the objects of her search.  Ryder lifted the receiver of his telephone and talked to his secretary in another room, while Shirley, who was still standing, continued examining the papers and letters.

“Is that you, Bagley?  What’s that?  General Dodge?  Get rid of him.  I can’t see him to-day.  Tell him to come to-morrow.  What’s that?  My son wants to see me?  Tell him to come to the phone,”

At that instant Shirley gave a little cry, which in vain she tried to suppress.  Ryder looked up.

“What’s the matter?” he demanded startled.

“Nothing—­nothing!” she replied in a hoarse whisper.  “I pricked myself with a pin.  Don’t mind me.”

She had just come across her father’s missing letters, which had got mixed up, evidently without Ryder’s knowledge, in the mass of papers he had handed her.  Prepared as she was to find the letters somewhere in the house, she never dreamed that fate would put them so easily and so quickly into her hands; the suddenness of their appearance and the sight of her father’s familiar signature affected her almost like a shock.  Now she had them, she must not let them go again; yet how could she keep them unobserved?  Could she conceal them?  Would he miss them?  She tried to slip them in her bosom while Ryder was busy at the ’phone, but he suddenly glanced in her direction and caught her eye.  She still held the letters in her hand, which shook from nervousness, but he noticed nothing and went on speaking through the ’phone: