had the semblance of warmth.

"And this is Miss Lindsey, whom we have chosen to support you in our
play, Miss Hawtry," Mr. Dennis Farraday continued, with a glance of
respectful awe at the Hawtry, which matched that given her by the
author a second before and obtained for Miss Lindsey a cordial enough
recognition of the introduction only slightly to frappe her instead of
freezing her entirely. "We are all hungry," he added after the change of
civilities.

"You are all having luncheon with me," Mr. Vandeford found his voice to
say. Ignoring Violet's glance of indignation at this skilful avoidance
of a climax of her scene with him, he had three extra covers laid at the
corner table devoted to the services of Miss Hawtry.

"I warned you that we were hungry, Van," said Mr. Farraday, as he began
to search through the menu for an article of diet safe to pour in
quantities into a girl who had long been empty. "How'd rare steak and
fresh mushrooms do?" he asked, and he looked away from what he was sure
would be in the eyes of Miss Lindsey, and which was there.

"Wonderful!" she murmured.

"Right-o, for you and Miss Lindsey, but what about nightingales' tongues
for my author?" laughed Mr. Vandeford, with an interested note in his
rich voice, which caused Miss Hawtry to look at him sharply and Miss
Adair to repeat the blush to such a degree that Miss Hawtry, as Miss
Lindsey before her, was forced to admit that it was native and not
imported. The flush did not pass unnoticed by Mr. Vandeford, as he
laughed again with a question as to her nourishing.

"I want something that I don't know what the name means," calmly
returned Miss Adair, with delighted excitement at the thought of
adventuring into a land of strange food. "I know steak and ham and eggs
and chicken and turkey."

"Will you trust me?" asked Mr. Vandeford. There was an eagerness in his
voice and smile that again made the Violet glance at him and then at Mr.
Dennis Farraday. The latter was beaming with mirth at the dilemma of
feeding the young author who was so frankly scattering her hay-seeds on
the metropolitan atmosphere. At that instant Miss Hawtry made a
momentous decision.

"Trust Mr. Vandeford and you can't go wrong," she advised with peaches
and cream in her voice, and for some unknown reason Mr. Vandeford would
have been glad to twist the creamy throat from which issued the creamy
voice. Instead, he turned, calmly summoned the head waiter, and went
into