wanted to come here. It is perfectly
lovely."

The attentive waiter at Geoffrey's elbow was being told to bring----
Anne's quick ear caught the word.

"No, please," she said at once, "not for Beulah and me."

His keen glance commanded her. "Of course not," he said, easily.
Presently he had the whole matter of the menu settled, and could talk to
Anne. She was enjoying it all immensely and said so.

"I should like to do this sort of thing every day."

"Heaven forbid. You would lose your dreams, and grow self-satisfied--and
fat--like that woman over there."

Anne shuddered. "It isn't that she is fat--it's her eyes, and the way she
makes up."

"That is the way they get when they live in places like this. If you want
to be slender and lovely and keep your dreams you must teach school."

"Oh, but there's drudgery in that."

"It is the people who drudge who dream. They don't know it, but they do.
People who have all they want learn that there is nothing more for life
to give. And they drink and take drugs to bring back the illusions they
have lost."

They fell into silence after that, and then it was Beulah who became
voluble. Her fair round face beamed. It was a common little face, but it
was good and honest. Beulah was having the time of her life. She did not
know that she owed her good fortune to Anne, that if Anne had not been
there, Geoffrey would not have asked her to dine. But if she had known
it, she would not have cared.

"What train did you come in on?" she asked.

"At noon. Brooks thought I ought to see a specialist. He doesn't give me
much encouragement about my eyes. He wants me to stop writing, but I
shan't until I get through with my book."

He spoke recklessly, but Anne saw the shadow on his face. "You aren't
telling us how really serious it is," she said, as Beulah's attention was
diverted.

"It is so serious that for the first time in my life I know myself to
be--a coward. Last night I lay in bed with my eyes shut to see how it
would seem to be blind. It was a pretty morbid thing to do--and this
morning finished me."

She tried to speak her sympathy, but could not. Her eyes were full of
tears.

"Don't," he said, softly, "my good little friend--my good little friend."

She dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. The unconscious Beulah, busy
with her oysters, asked: "Is the Tobasco too hot? I'm all burning up with
it."

Geoffrey was able later to speak lightly of his affliction. "I shall