of fashion.
Behind an expression of the sweetest candor and wistfulness, as behind a
safe bulwark, she preserved an effrontery which balked at no defiance of
conventions in public, though essentially she was quite sufficiently
discreet for self-preservation. Also she had a keen little brain, a
reckless but good-humored heart and a memory retentive of important
trifles.

"In the West, Bertie?" she inquired of Cressey. "You were in that big
wreck there, weren't you?"

"Devil of a wreck," said Cressey uneasily. You never could tell what
Esther might know or might not say.

"Ask him over here," directed that young lady blandly, "for coffee and
liqueurs."

"Oh, I say!" protested one of the men. "Nobody knows anything about
him--"

"He's a friend of mine," put in Cressey, in a tone which ended that
particular objection. "But I don't think he'd come."

Instantly there was a chorus of demand for him.

"All right, I'll try," yielded Cressey, rising.

"Put him next to me," directed Miss Forbes.

The emissary visited Banneker's table, was observed to be in brief
colloquy with him, and returned, alone.

"Wouldn't he come?" interrogated the chorus.

"He's awfully sorry, but he says he isn't fit for decent human
associations."

"More and more interesting!"--"Why?"--"What awful thing has he been
doing?"

"Eating onions," answered Cressey. "Raw."

"I don't believe it," cried the indignant Miss Forbes. "One doesn't eat
raw onions at Sherry's. It's a subterfuge."

"Very likely."

"If I went over there myself, who'll bet a dozen silk stockings that I
can't--"

"Come off it, Ess," protested her brother-in-law across the table.
"That's too high a jump, even for you."

She let herself be dissuaded, but her dovelike eyes were vagrant during
the rest of the dinner.

Pleasantly musing over the last glass of a good but moderate-priced
Rosemont-Geneste, Banneker became aware of Cressey's dinner party filing
past him: then of Jules, the waiter, discreetly murmuring something,
from across the table. A faint and provocative scent came to his
nostrils, and as he followed Jules's eyes he saw a feminine figure
standing at his elbow. He rose promptly and looked down into a face
which might have been modeled for a type of appealing innocence.

"You're Mr. Banneker, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"I'm Esther Forbes, and I think I've heard a great deal about you."

"It doesn't seem probable," he replied gravely.

"From a cousin o