was the only person, except his father, who walked freely into the private office without knocking.
Ellen liked it in the old man but not in Lew Alban. She did not like him and his habit, not only of entering unannounced, but of lingering near her while she worked, especially when she was alone.
He was thirty-five; very thin and ascetic-looking, if you gave him only a glance; but his thinness, as Ellen happened to know, was no indication of his appetite. He was one of those men who ate, hugely, without adding an ounce. He was dark, slightly bald, slightly sallow. He was tailored in New York, whither he traveled twice yearly and saw all the new shows. Every fortnight or so, he came to Chicago; but he always returned to his importance in his little town. He liked to lounge in the Rountree offices because there, at least, in Chicago he was important. He, or the Alban company of which his father was still nominally president, kept the Rountree company busy for nearly half the year; the Alban order made up forty per cent of the business of Rountree. Lew always let you know it.
"Well, Big Gray Eyes, nearly through?" he asked her, in his smooth, smiling way.
"Not anywhere nearly," said Ellen.
"It's Christmas eve."
"Oh," said Ellen, "I've done my shopping."
"Bought my present?" he said and laughed when she shook her head.
Mr. Rountree being out of the office, Lew seated himself behind her, as he often did. He held a newspaper but
