As for Bennett, Milton, who was watching him closely, thought he was about to discharge him on the spot for bothering him.  He took the card, and his face expressed the most extreme surprise, then anger.  He thought a moment.

“Tell that woman to state her business in writing,” he thundered curtly at Milton.

As the boy turned to go back to the waiting room, Weepy Mary, hearing him coming, hastily shoved the cigarette into her “son’s” hand.

“Mr. Bennett says for you to write out what it is you want to see him about,” reported Milton, indicating the table before which she was sitting.

Mary had automatically taken up sobbing, with the release of the cigarette.  She looked at the table on which were letter paper, pens and ink.

“I may write here?” she asked.

“Surely, ma’am,” replied Milton, still very much overwhelmed by her sorrow.

Weepy Mary sat there, writing and sobbing.

In the midst of his sympathy, however, Milton sniffed.  There was an unmistakable odor of tobacco smoke about the room.  He looked sharply at the “son” and discovered the still smoking cigarette.

It was too much for Milton’s outraged dignity.  Bennett did not allow him that coveted privilege.  This upstart could not usurp it.

He reached over and seized the boy by the arm and swung him around till he faced a sign in the corner on the wall.

“See?” he demanded.

The sign read courteously: 

  “No Smoking in This Office—­Please.  “Perry Bennett.”

“Leggo my arm,” snarled the “son,” putting the offending cigarette defiantly into his mouth.

Milton coolly and deliberately reached over and, with an exaggerated politeness swiftly and effectively removed it, dropping it on the floor and stamping defiantly on it.

“Son” raised his fists pugnaciously, for he didn’t care much for the role he was playing, anyhow.

Milton did the same.

There was every element of a gaudy mix-up, when the outer door of the office suddenly swung open and Elaine Dodge entered.

Gallantry was Milton’s middle name and he sprang forward to hold the door, and then opened Bennett’s door, as he ushered in Elaine.

As she passed “Weepy Mary,” who was still writing at the table and crying bitterly, Elaine hesitated and looked at her curiously.  Even after Milton had opened Bennett’s door, she could not resist another glance.  Instinctively Elaine seemed to scent trouble.

Bennett was still studying the black-bordered card, when she greeted him.

“Who is that woman?” she asked, still wondering about the identity of the Niobe outside.

At first he said nothing.  But finally, seeing that she had noticed it, he handed Elaine the card, reluctantly.

Elaine read it with a gasp.  The look of surprise that crossed her face was terrible.