He leaned back against the cushions, trying to achieve a coolness of
mind and body. But the heat of the day kept him unpleasantly soluble,
and dismay, that perspiration of the soul, refused to be absorbed by
the pocket-handkerchief of philosophy.

Bailey Bannister was a young man who considered the minding of other
people's business a duty not to be shirked. Life is a rocky road for
such. His motto was "Let _me_ do it!" He fussed about the affairs
of Bannister & Son; he fussed about the welfare of his friends at the
club; especially, he fussed about his only sister Ruth.

He looked on himself as a sort of guardian to Ruth. Their mother had
died when they were children, and old Mr. Bannister was indifferently
equipped with the paternal instinct. He was absorbed, body and soul, in
the business of the firm. He lived practically a hermit life in the
great house on Fifth Avenue; and, if it had not been for Bailey, so
Bailey considered, Ruth would have been allowed to do just whatever she
pleased. There were those who said that this was precisely what she
did, despite Brother Bailey.

It is a hard world for a conscientious young man of twenty-seven.

Bailey paid the cab and went into the house. It was deliciously cool in
the hall, and for a moment peace descended on him. But the distant
sound of a piano in the upper regions ejected it again by reminding him
of his mission. He bounded up the stairs and knocked at the door of his
sister's private den.

The piano stopped as he entered, and the girl on the music-stool
glanced over her shoulder.