front doors, not only Stanton and Parker and the two men servants stared after her, but William Steele as well. Only Bradford kept his eyes straight ahead until she had gone when, with a gesture to his underlings, he followed her into the house.
"Damn it," snapped Booth Stanton, swinging about upon the chauffeur. "What did you want to be late for? You've started things off in great shape."
"I wasn't late," growled Parker. "Not late enough to count. I got there before the train had finished putting off and taking on passengers."
"Report at my office in ten minutes," cut in Stanton briefly.
Parker drove off, skirting the house to come to the garage in the rear. Stanton, with a sharp glance directed toward the house that brought him only the vision of Bradford's discreet back, trudged off to his cabin. Steele, his lips pursed for a whistle which never reached even his own ears, remained where he was, his inner eye busy with the pictured memory of the face of Miss Corliss.
He had gone back to his chair, his heels hooked over the chain, when some ten minutes later Bradford came out to him.
"Miss Corliss is having lunch immediately, Mr. Steele," he said from his customarily respectful attitude. "She will be glad of your company."
"The devil you say!" cried Steele.
"And I am to show you to your room, sir. ..."
"Room?" interrupted Steele, springing to his feet
