I should have asked before,
but--you--something put it out of my head."

"Quite well, thanks. She's making something for luncheon and has
forbidden me the kitchen. It's a surprise. Do you like surprises, Mr.
Herrick?"

"Some. It depends on the nature of them."

"I suppose it does. An earthquake, for instance, would be a rather
disagreeable surprise, wouldn't it?"

"Decidedly. I can imagine a surprise that would be distinctly pleasant,
though," said Wade, giving a great deal of attention to the selection of
a match from his silver case. "For instance, if you were to give me a
small piece of that lilac for my buttonhole."

"That would surprise you?" laughed Eve. "Then I'm to understand that you
think me ungenerous?"

"No, indeed, I was--was considering my unworthiness."

"Such humility is charming," answered Eve, breaking off a tiny spray and
tossing it to him. "There; aren't you awfully surprised? Please look
so."

Wade struck an attitude and made a grimace which to a third person would
have indicated wild alarm.

"Oh, dear," laughed Eve, "if that's your idea of looking pleasant I'd
hate to see you in an earthquake!"

Wade placed the spray in his buttonhole. "Thank you," he said, "I shall
have quite a collection--"

"You were going to say?" asked Eve politely as he paused.

"I was going to say"--he paused again. "You know I already have a spray
of this that belongs to you." He shot a quick, curious glance at her.

"You have? And where did you get it?"

Wade lighted his pipe very deliberately.

"You dropped it outside my window the other day."

"Oh!" said Eve, with a careless laugh.

"I'm afraid that must be withered by this time."

"It is," said Wade. There was no reply to this, and he looked up to find
her gazing idly at the pages of her book, which she was ruffling with
her fingers. "I'm keeping you from reading," he said.

"No, I don't want to read. It's not interesting."

"May I see what it is?" She held the cover up for his inspection.

"Have you read it?" she asked. He shook his head slowly.

"I don't read many novels, and those I do read I forget all about the
next minute. Of course I try to keep up with the important ones, the
ones folks always ask you about, like Mrs. Humphrey Ward's and Miss
Wharton's."

"Yes? And do you like them?"

"I suppose so," he replied, dubiously. "I think the last one I read was
'The Fruit of Mirth.' I didn't care very much for that, did you? If I'd
had