"How did you find out?"
"It's on file in the office."
He nodded, a trifle disappointed, but asked her: "Been by it, by any chance?"
"I've been by," admitted Ellen and more than repaid his momentary disappointment.
"Know the phone number, do you?"
"Yes."
Lew looked over her with half-shut, heavy-lidded eyes. "If you use it this week, you'll find me. Then I'm taking a little rest—France; Monte Carlo, maybe." He reached for the pattern she had brought and pulled it from the envelope. "That's all right," he said after a glance. "You knew it was, didn't you?"
"Yes. Do you mind telling me is it really any use our making up that pattern?"
"Our?" repeated Lew, mocking the tone of her word.
"Rountree, I mean."
"Oh, you can count on your job," assured Lew. "Rountree will keep open a while. I'm letting everybody ride till I get back; six weeks, I'd say."
Each evening of the week, Ellen struggled miserably with herself. She ought to phone him; she ought not; she ought; ought not. She never used the number or again saw him before he sailed.
She accused herself, as soon as he was safely away: she had dodged him; she had dodged Lew Alban. She had learned that she still possessed the power to attract him, only to sacrifice it, she thought, by having affronted him. Ellen did not know that, until he obtained her,
