ld have
sorely puzzled him, for it held not only interest but an element of
apprehension, even of fear.

"In the past two days," she said, after an interval, "you have sent me
five baskets of food, four baskets of fruit, six boxes of candy, and
three boxes of flowers. What do you suppose becomes of them all?"

"I know what becomes of the flowers." He cast an appreciative glance
around the transformed room. "And I hope," he mildly added, "that you
eat the food."

She broke into her rare laugh, soft, deep-throated, and contagious.
Under it his spirits rose dizzyingly.

"You are feeding half the people in this building," she said, "not to
mention Sam and his home circle. Sam has absorbed roast chicken, cold
partridge, quail, and sweetbreads till he is getting critical. He asked
me this morning if I shouldn't like ham and eggs for a change!"

Laurie felt slightly aggrieved.

"Do you mean to say that you're not eating any of the stuff yourself?"
he demanded.

"Oh, I eat three meals a day. But I don't keep boarders, you know; so I
give the rest to Sam to distribute. He feeds several dozen art students,
I infer, and staggers home every night under the burden of what's
left."

"There won't be anything left this night."

She had risen now and was helping to set the little table. Laurie looked
at her with shining eyes. One of her rapid changes of mood had taken
place, and she was entering into the spirit of the impromptu supper as
cheerfully as if it were a new game and she a child. She had become a
wholly different personality from the tragic-eyed girl who less than ten
minutes ago had somberly announced that she was making her last stand in
life. Again, as often before, Laurie felt overwhelmed by the rush of
conflicting emotions she aroused.

"Shall we have this big bowl of roses in the center, or the four little
bowls at the corners?" she asked absorbedly.

As she spoke, she studied the flowers with her head on one side. For the
moment, it was clear, the question she had asked was the most vital in
the world.

"The little ones," decided the guest. "The big one might shut off some
of you from my devouring eyes." He was mixing ingredients in a
chafing-dish as he spoke, and he wore the trying air of smug complacency
that invariably accompanies that simple process.

"No," he objected, as she tried to help him, "I will do the brain-work.
Your part is to be feminine and rush briskly back and forth, offering me
thin