kind of you to say so, Mademoiselle--economy and honesty."

Masters patted Mark Heath on the knee.

"We can't let you fellows go away from us now. One doesn't get guides
to the Latin quarter for nothing. Take us somewhere, Mr. Heath--unless
you're working to-night."

"No, virtue has been rewarded," said Mr. Heath. "I'm off to-night as a
testimonial of esteem from the City Editor. What shall it be?"

Bertram Chester, taking up the talk again, laid out Kearney Street
like a bill of fare. Mrs. Masters, casting her vote as chaperone,
chose the Marionette Theatre tucked away under the shadow of the
Broadway Jail.

As Eleanor stepped out into California Street, gathering her coat
about her against a night which had come up windy and raw, Bertram
took her side with a proprietary air. She turned toward her appointed
escort. It happened that he was walking ahead with Heath just then,
holding an argument about the drift of Montgomery Street when it was
the water front. For several blocks, then, Bertram had her alone. It
seemed to her that he began just where he left off two years or more
ago.

"You're even prettier than you used to be," he said caressingly;
"you've bully eyes. I think I told you that before."

This time, she looked him full in the face and smiled easily.

"Have I? Well I hope you don't mind my saying that they're resting on
a bonny sight!"

Somewhat taken aback by the directness of this answer, so different
from the artificial coyness of the girls he knew best in that period
of his life, Bertram turned in his course.

"You're joshing me," he said.

"Truly I'm not. You are good to look at--eyes and all."

Although balked of his opening, Bertram tried again.

"Well your mouth is just as good as your eyes."

The same quick look into his face, and the same smile, as she
answered:

"Yours is a little better if anything. It is not only well formed, but
it becomes delicious when you smile, and it has most attractive
shadows in the corners."

"Suppose we talk sense," grumbled Bertram.

"Suppose we do; I know you can." They both laughed at this, and all
the way up Kearney Street she continued her chatter of Europe. Lars
Wark, who had known her mother, had done everything for her. It had
been very different from the regular tour; she came back ignorant of
all the show places from Cologne Cathedral to the Tower. But it had
been her privilege to see and meet wonderful people. They would not do
for regu