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“You!” he said, in a tone from which all self-complacency had fled.

“Yes, I. I was assigned to you, and I had to come. Until now I have been fortunate in avoiding such a contingency.”

“I did not know you were in New York,” he stammered, to gain time.

“I got this appointment on the Epoch last season, through a friend. But I came here first in summer, when you were cruising on Mr. Compton’s yacht. You see it is not difficult for me to keep account of your movements, you are such a great man now; and besides, the others tell me you are very good in giving them items about your plans.”

Carmichael colored. He could not believe that the cool, satiric, self-reliant speaker was the orphaned sister who for years had made him the god of her idolatry.

“You are looking well,” he said; “your profession seems to agree with you. I hope you have comfortable quarters. And if there is anything I can do for you now, perhaps you will tell me as soon as may be, since I am engaged for dinner and have some letters to write before dressing.”