One move only had Gard made with success, and the doing thereof had
given him supreme satisfaction. The account opened in his office in Mrs.
Marteen's name had been transferred to Dorothy, and with such publicity
that Mrs. Marteen was unable to raise objections. Right and left he told
the tale of his having desired to advise the widow of his old friend, of
his successful operations, of Mrs. Marteen's refusal to accept her just
gains as "too great," and his determination that the account,
transferred to the daughter, should reach its proper destination. The
first result of his outwitting of the beneficiary was a doubling of the
usual letters inclosing a cheque and requesting advice. The secretary
was plainly disgusted, but Gard grimly paid the price of his checkmate,
and by his generosity certainly precluded any accusation of favoritism.
As he read Dorothy's note on the invitation, he chuckled at the thought
of his own cleverness, and rejoiced in the knowledge that his débutante
had become somewhat his ward and protégée.

The bell of his private telephone rang--only his intimates had the
number of that wire--and he raised the receiver with sudden conviction
that the voice he would hear was Dorothy's. "Well, my dear?" he said.
There was a little gurgle, and an obviously disguised voice replied:

"And who do you think this is?"

"Why, the queen of the débutantes, of course. I felt it in my bones; it
was a pleasurable sensation."

"Wrong," the voice came back, "quite wrong. This is the superintendent
of the Old Ladies' Home, and we want autographed photographs of you for
all the old ladies' dressers--to cheer them up, you know."