much himself to-night, and in an exceedingly good humor.
In no time he made her also feel very much herself and put her into
an equally good humor. Her cares, her responsibilities, her fears,
vanished as quickly as if the last three or four years had taught her
nothing. She had started with set lips, and here she was with smiling
ones. In the half-hour that she waited in her room for him, she had
rehearsed a half-dozen set speeches; now she did not recall one of
them.

Don suggested wine, but she shook her head. She had no need of wine.
It was wine enough just to be out of her room at night; wine enough
just to get away from the routine of her own meals; wine enough just
not to be alone; wine enough just to get away from her own sex for a
little.

Don chatted on aimlessly through the anchovies, the soup, and fish,
and she enjoyed listening to him. He was the embodiment of youth, and
he made even her feel like a care-free girl of sixteen again. This
showed in her face, in the relaxed muscles about her mouth, and in her
brightened eyes.

Then, during the long wait for the steak and mushrooms, his face
became serious, and he leaned across the table.

"By the way," he began, "the house has received a new allotment of
bonds; I want to tell you about them."

He had his facts well in hand, and he spoke with conviction and an
unconventionality of expression that made her listen. She knew a
good salesman when she heard one, whether she was familiar with the
particular subject-matter or not. The quality of salesmanship
really had nothing to do with the subject-matter. A good salesman
can sell anything. It has rather to do with that unknown gift which
distinguishes an actor able to pack a house from an actor with every
other quality able only to half fill a house. It has nothing to do
with general intelligence; it has nothing to do with conscientious
preparation; it has nothing to do with anything but itself. It
corresponds to what in a woman is called charm, and which may go
with a pug nose or freckles or a large mouth. But it cannot be
cultivated. It either is or is not.

It was the mushrooms and steak that interrupted him. Jacques was
trying to draw his attention to the sizzling hot platter which he was
holding for his inspection--a work of art in brown and green.
Ordinarily Monsieur Pendleton took some time to appreciate his
efforts. Now he merely nodded:--

"Good."

Jacques was somewhat disappointed.

"Madame s