She looked at him inquiringly, and went for her wraps without a word.
"Oh, Captain O'Leary, we have needed you so!" exclaimed Miss Watts.
"Woman, woman, why didn't ye cable me? As it is I took the first boat."
"I know you and Isabelle want to be alone, but I'm so in disgrace now, with Mrs. Bryce, that I dare not let her go with you, unless I go."
"Of course, get your bonnet. Isabelle and I will have enough time later, to catch up on our affairs."
So all three of them got into the Captain's taxi, and hurried to the address which Isabelle gave the driver.
There was some little difficulty in Mr. Clifford's outer office, but Captain O'Leary simplified it, by lifting the office boy out of the way, bodily, opening the door and marching in, followed by the two women.
Startled glances were lifted to this tall officer, stranger to them all, who strode in, unannounced. The lawyer rose angrily.
"Walked. Present me to the Bryces, Miss Watts," he replied.
"Mrs. Bryce, this is Captain O'Leary, a friend of Isabelle's and mine from Bermuda."
Mrs. Bryce stared--too astonished to speak. The tall, young man bowed.
"This is my father," said Isabelle. The two men shook hands.
"I object to this man's coming in here," began the editor of _Chit-Chat_.
Captain O'Leary fixed him with a stormy eye.
"We'll hear your objections later. I know all about this rotten deal. Is this Jean Jacques Petard?"
"This is none of your business," began Clifford, but he never finished it. With one long arm Captain O'Leary reached for Monsieur Petard, lifted the gentleman by the seat of his trousers and his collar, bore him toward the door. Isabelle opened it for him.
"Don't kill him," she said, as he went out.
Wally and Clifford rushed after him. Isabelle followed and Miss Watts got as far as the door. Max and the editor sat still, but sounds came to them from the outer hall.
It was about ten minutes later that O'Leary strode into the room again, with heightened colour but otherwise undisturbed.
"We'll hear no more of Mr. Petard, I think. Now sir, it is your turn."
The editor defended himself with a chair.
"What business is this, of yours?" he yelled.
"Miss Bryce is going to do me the honour of marrying me, and you'll jolly well see how much it is my business. Put down that chair, it is words for you, not blows. Mr. Bryce, if the ladies will leave us, we can settle shortly with this gentleman."