nd that made her wonder what H. R. had up his sleeve now. What did he
mean by saying that her troubles were only beginning and that she soon
would feel the heavy price of fame? What absurd thing was that about the
perfectly beautiful hundred and the tickets and the Beauty Commission
and the free sandwiches--hateful word!--and the free dinners, and the--

She almost ran up to her room, pretending not to hear the voices of her
tea-drinking friends in the Dutch room. In her boudoir she quickly read
all the newspaper clippings. She learned all about the Mammoth Hunger
Feast because, this being the second time, she now read intelligently,
instead of looking for a certain name.

If H. R. could do all he said he would, he would be a wonder. And he was
a very clever chap, anyhow.

Her father must be wrong.

Mr. Goodchild himself could never get the newspapers to say about him
all the nice things they said about H. R. And Bishop Phillipson and the
fathers of girls she knew, and people she had heard of and painters and
novelists and--er--people were helping H. R.

The tickets and the ten-thousand-dollar coupons and the ideal menu!

"He _is_ clever!" she admitted, and smiled. Then she decided, "If he
makes me ridiculous--" and frowned. "I could kill him!" she said,
calmly, as befits a Christian assassin. That desire compelled her to
think of H. R. and of what he had said from their first meeting at the
bank. He had said much and had done more. In the end she spoke aloud:
"I wonder if he really loves me?"

A knock at the door was the only answer--a servant who came to tell her
that Mrs. Goodchild wished her to know they were waiting for her
downstairs in the Dutch room.

"Very well," she said to the servant. To herself she said, firmly, "Even
if he loves me and is everything he should be I can never marry a man
who has made me feel like a theatrical poster!"

Her determination was adamantine. To break it H. R. must be more than
clever.

XIX

H. R. at that very moment was in his office. He had prepared a few model
epistles for his Public Sentiment Corps to write to the newspapers,
asking whether the composition of the ideal hunger-appeaser had been
printed and when the tickets for the Mammoth Hunger Feast would be
offered for sale. This would keep alive interest in his plans and in the
personnel of his public commissions. People had grown to believe that
all sorts of commissions were necessary not only to free b