"I still don't know how he takes a man with a gun by surprise." He demonstrated with a gesture. "In the time it takes to draw a sword, you can step in and punch him in the nose."

Marion reached across the teacups and took Bell's hand. "To tell the truth, I would be delighted if a bloody nose is the most I have to worry about."

"At this point, I would love a bloody nose, or even a flesh wound or two."

"Whatever for?"

"You remember Weber and Fields?"

"The funny old gents." Wally Kisley and Mack Fulton had taken her to dinner while passing through San Francisco recently and kept her laughing all evening.

"Wally and Mack always say, 'Bloody noses are a sure sign of progress. You know you're close when your quarry pokes you in the snoot.' Right now, I could use a good poke in the snoot." The comment brought a smile to their faces.

Two women, fashionably dressed in the latest hats and gowns, entered the hotel lobby and crossed it in a flourish of feathers and silk. The younger was so striking that many of the lowered newspapers remained on their owners' laps.

Marion said, "What a beautiful girl!"

Bell had already seen her in a mirror.

"The girl wearing pale blue," said Marion.

"She is Osgood Hennessy's daughter, Lillian," said Bell, wondering if it was coincidence that had brought Lillian to the St. Francis while he was here, and suspecting it was not.

"Do you know her?"

"I met her last week aboard Hennessy's special. She's his private secretary."

"What is she like?"

Bell smiled. "She has pretensions to being a seductress. Flashes her eyes like that French actress."

"Anna Held."

"She is intelligent, though, and savvy about business. She's very young, spoiled by her adoring father, and, I suspect, very innocent when it comes to matters of the heart. The dark-haired woman with her used to be her tutor. Now she's Hennessy's mistress."

"Do you want to go over and say hello?"

"Not when I have only minutes left to spend with you."

Marion returned a pleased grin. "I am flattered. She is young, unspeakably beautiful, and presumably very rich."

"You are unspeakably beautiful, and when you marry me you will be very rich, too."

"But I'm not an heiress."

"I've known my fill of heiresses, thank you very much, since we were taught the Boston Waltz in dancing school," he said, grinning back. "It's a slow waltz with a long glide. We can dance it at our wedding, if you like."

"Oh, Isaac, are you sure you want to marry me?"

"I am sure."

"Most people would call me an old maid. And they would say that a man your age should marry a girl her age."

"I've never done what I 'should' do. Why should I start now when I've finally met the girl of my dreams? And made a friend for life?"

"But what will your family think of me? I have no money. They'll think I'm a gold digger."