"So you think your life is a good example to follow?" she asked with a tinge of irony.

"Isn't it?" he demanded.

The girl looked him square in the face.

"Suppose," she said, "we all wanted to follow it, suppose we all wanted to be the richest, the most powerful personage in the world?"

"Well--what then?" he demanded.

"I think it would postpone the era of the Brotherhood of man indefinitely, don't you?"

"I never thought of it from that point of view," admitted the billionaire. "Really," he added, "you're an extraordinary girl.

Why, you can't be more than twenty--or so."

"I'm twenty-four--or so," smiled Shirley.

Ryder's face expanded in a broad smile. He admired this girl's pluck and ready wit. He grew more amiable and tried to gain her confidence. In a coaxing tone he said:

"Come, where did you get those details? Take me into your confidence."

"I have taken you into my confidence," laughed Shirley, pointing at her book. "It cost you $1.50!" Turning over the papers he had put before her she said presently: "I don't know about this."

"You don't think my life would make good reading?" he asked with some asperity.

"It might," she replied slowly, as if unwilling to commit herself as to its commercial or literary value. Then she said frankly: "To tell you the honest truth, I don't consider mere genius in money-making is sufficient provocation for rushing into print. You see, unless you come to a bad end, it would have no moral."

Ignoring the not very flattering insinuation contained in this last speech, the plutocrat continued to urge her:

"You can name your own price if you will do the work," he said.

"Two, three or even five thousand dollars. It's only a few months'

work."

"Five thousand dollars?" echoed Shirley. "That's a lot of money."

Smiling, she added: "It appeals to my commercial sense. But I'm afraid the subject does not arouse my enthusiasm from an artistic standpoint."

Ryder seemed amused at the idea of any one hesitating to make five thousand dollars. He knew that writers do not run across such opportunities every day.

"Upon my word," he said, "I don't know why I'm so anxious to get you to do the work. I suppose it's because you don't want to. You remind me of my son. Ah, he's a problem!"

Shirley started involuntarily when Ryder mentioned his son. But he did not notice it.

"Why, is he wild?" she asked, as if only mildly interested.

"Oh, no, I wish he were," said Ryder.

"Fallen in love with the wrong woman, I suppose," she said.

"Something of the sort--how did you guess?" asked Ryder surprised.

Shirley coughed to hide her embarra.s.sment and replied indifferently.

"So many boys do that. Besides," she added with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, "I can hardly imagine that any woman would be the right one unless you selected her yourself!"

Ryder made no answer. He folded his arms and gazed at her. Who was this woman who knew him so well, who could read his inmost thoughts, who never made a mistake? After a silence he said:

"Do you know you say the strangest things?"

"Truth is strange," replied Shirley carelessly. "I don't suppose you hear it very often."

"Not in that form," admitted Ryder.

Shirley had taken on to her lap some of the letters he had pa.s.sed her, and was perusing them one after another.

"All these letters from Washington consulting you on politics and finance--they won't interest the world."

"My secretary picked them out," explained Ryder. "Your artistic sense will tell you what to use."

"Does your son still love this girl? I mean the one you object to?" inquired Shirley as she went on sorting the papers.

"Oh, no, he does not care for her any more," answered Ryder hastily.

"Yes, he does; he still loves her," said Shirley positively.

"How do _you_ know?" asked Ryder amazed.

"From the way you say he doesn't," retorted Shirley.

Ryder gave his caller a look in which admiration was mingled with astonishment.

"You are right again," he said. "The idiot does love the girl."

"Bless his heart," said Shirley to herself. Aloud she said:

"I hope they'll both outwit you."

Ryder laughed in spite of himself. This young woman certainly interested him more than any other he had ever known.

"I don't think I ever met anyone in my life quite like you," he said.

"What's the objection to the girl?" demanded Shirley.

"Every objection. I don't want her in my family."

"Anything against her character?"

To better conceal the keen interest she took in the personal turn the conversation had taken, Shirley pretended to be more busy than ever with the papers.

"Yes--that is no--not that I know of," replied Ryder. "But because a woman has a good character, that doesn't necessarily make her a desirable match, does it?"