ngly
cordial than she was, and it was soon arranged that he was to bring
Dorothy to dine that evening.

When it was over, and he was back again in his own seat, he could see, by
glancing at Christine that she was engaged in a long humorous account of
the incident, for her own table; and he could tell, even from that
distance, when he was supposed to be speaking, when Dorothy, and when
Christine was repeating her own words. Meanwhile Dorothy was saying:

"How charming and simple she is, Max. You always hear of these people as
being so artificial and elaborate."

"Oh, they're direct enough," returned Riatt bitterly.

The bitterness was so apparent that Dorothy could not ignore it. She
looked up at him for an instant and then she said seriously: "I believe I
know what the trouble with you is, Max. You can't believe that she loves
you for yourself. You're haunted by the dread that what you have has
something to do with it. Isn't that it?"

Max now made use of the well-known counter question as an escape from a
tight place.

"And what is your judgment on that point, Dolly?"

"She loves you," said Miss Lane, with conviction, and a moment afterward
she sighed.

"Without disputing your opinion," returned Riatt, "I should very much
like to know on what you base it."

"Oh, on a hundred things--on her look, her manner, her being so nice to
me--on woman's intuition in fact."

Riatt thought to himself that he had never had much confidence in the
intuition theory and now he had none.

They did not part at the termination of lunch. It was almost a duty,
Riatt considered, to show a stranger a few of the sights. Miss Lane, who
was extremely well-informed on all questions of art, suggested the
Metropolitan Museum; and after that they took a taxicab and drove along
the river and watched the winter sunset above the palisades; and then
they went and had tea at the Plaza, and by the time they returned to Mrs.
Lane it was almost the hour for dressing for dinner; and then Max sat
gossiping with Mrs. Lane, for whom he had always had the deepest
affection, until he knew he was going to be late.

They were late--a difficult thing to be in the Fenimer household. The
party, a small one, was waiting when Miss Lane and Mr. Riatt were ushered
in. Nancy was there, and Hickson, and Mr. Linburne without his wife this
time; and Mr. Fenimer himself, doing honor to his future son-in-law by
taking a meal at home.

Christine in a wonderful pi