his usual unconsciousness could not but notice the beauty
of the table service. The meal itself was the simplest of summer
luncheons, but the silver and china and glass were such as he had never
seen before.

"What wine will you have with your luncheon, Mr. Stirling?" he was asked
by his hostess.

"I don't--none for me," replied Peter.

"You don't approve of wine?" asked his hostess.

"Personally I have no feeling about it."

"But?" And there was a very big question mark in Miss De Voe's voice.

"My mother is strongly prejudiced against it, so I do not take it. It is
really no deprivation to me, while it would mean great anxiety to her if
I drank."

This started the conversation on Peter's mother and his early years, and
before it had ended, his hostess had succeeded in learning much more
about his origin and his New York life. The clock finally cut him short
again, for they lingered at the table long after the meal was finished,
though Miss De Voe made the pretence of eating a grape occasionally.
When three o'clock struck, Peter, without the least simulating any other
cause for going, rose hastily.

"I have used up your whole afternoon," he said, apologetically.

"I think," smiled Miss De Voe, "that we are equal culprits in that. I
leave town to-morrow, Mr. Stirling, but return to the city late in
October, and if your work and inclination favor it, I hope you will come
to see me again?"

Peter looked at the silver and the china. Then he looked at Miss De Voe,
so obviously an aristocrat.

"I shall be happy to," he said, "if, when you return, you will send me
word that you wish to see me."

Miss De Voe had slightly caught her breath while Peter hesitated. "I
believe he is going to refuse!" she thought to herself, a sort of
stunned amazement seizing her. She was scarcely less surprised at his
reply.

"I never ask a man twice to call on me, Mr. Stirling," she said, with a
slight hauteur in her voice.

"I'm sorry for that," said Peter quietly.

Miss De Voe caught her breath again. "Good-afternoon," she said, holding
out her hand. "I shall hope to see you."

"Good-bye," said Peter, and the next moment was walking towards his
office.

Miss De Voe stood for a moment thinking. "That was curious," she
thought, "I wonder if he intends to come?"

The next evening she was dining with relatives in one of the fashionable
summering places, and was telling them about her call "from Mr.
Stirling, the lawyer who