stood above him.

"I told you," said Keep, "to ask no questions."

As Fred re-entered the hall, Winnie Keep was coming down the stairs
toward him. She had changed to one of the prettiest evening gowns of her
trousseau, and so outrageously lovely was the combination of herself and
the gown that her husband's excitement and anxiety fell from him, and he
was lost in admiration. But he was not for long lost. To his horror; the
door of the coat-closet opened toward his wife and out of the closet the
stranger emerged. Winnie, not accustomed to seeing young men suddenly
appear from among the dust-coats, uttered a sharp shriek.

With what he considered great presence of mind, Fred swung upon the
visitor.

"Did you fix it?" he demanded.

The visitor did not heed him. In amazement in abject admiration, his
eyes were fastened upon the beautiful and radiant vision presented by
Winnie Keep. But he also still preserved sufficient presence of mind to
nod his head dully.

"Come," commanded Fred. "The car is waiting."

Still the stranger did not move. As though he had never before seen a
woman, as though her dazzling loveliness held him in a trance, he stood
still, gazing, gaping, devouring Winnie with his eyes. In her turn,
Winnie beheld a strange youth who looked like a groom out of livery,
so overcome by her mere presence as to be struck motionless and
inarticulate. For protection she moved in some alarm toward her husband.

The stranger gave a sudden jerk of his body that might have been
intended for a bow. Before Keep could interrupt him, like a parrot
reciting its lesson, he exclaimed explosively:

"My name's Van Warden. I'm Harry Van Warden."

He seemed as little convinced of the truth of his statement as though
he had announced that he was the Czar of Russia. It was as though a
stage-manager had drilled him in the lines.

But upon Winnie, as her husband saw to his dismay, the words produced
an instant and appalling effect. She fairly radiated excitement and
delight. How her husband had succeeded in capturing the social prize of
Scarboro she could not imagine, but, for doing so, she flashed toward
him a glance of deep and grateful devotion.

Then she beamed upon the stranger. "Won't Mr. Van Warden stay to
dinner?" she asked.

Her husband emitted a howl. "He will NOT!" he cried. "He's not that kind
of a Van Warden. He's a plumber. He's the man that fixes the telephone!"

He seized the visitor by the sleeve of the