more or less ornamental in his evenin' clothes. And Zenobia
ain't such a bad looker either, you know; especially just now, with her
ears pinked up and her eyes sparklin' mischievous. I don't know whether
it's from takin' massage treatments reg'lar, or if it just comes
natural, but she don't need to cover up her collar bone or wear things
around her neck.

"Yes, that night," says she, liftin' her glass. "Shall we drink just
once to the memory of it?"

Which they did.

"And now," goes on Zenobia, "we will forget it, if you please."

"Not I," says Ballard. "Another thing: I've never forgiven your sister
Martha for what she did then. I never will."

Zenobia indulges in a trilly little laugh. "No more has she forgiven
you," says she. "How absurd of you both, just as though--but we'll not
talk about it. I've no time for yesterdays. To-day is too full. Tell me,
why are you back here?"

"Because seven armies have chased me out of Europe," says he, "and my
charming Vienna is too full of typhus to be quite healthy. If I'd
dreamed of finding you like this, I should have come long ago."

"Very pretty," says Zenobia. "I'd love to believe it, just for the sake
of repeating it to Martha in the morning. She is still with me, you
know."

"As saintly as ever?" asks Ballard.

"At thirty Martha was quite as good as she could be," says Zenobia.
"There she seems to have stopped. So naturally her opinion of you hasn't
altered in the least."

"And yours?" says he.

"Did I have opinions at twenty-two?" says she. "How ridiculous! I had
emotions, moods, mad impulses; anyway, something that led me to give you
seven dances in a row and stay until after one A.M. when I had promised
someone to leave at eleven. You don't think I've kept up that sort of
thing, do you?"

"I don't know," says Ballard. "I wouldn't be sure. One never could be
sure of Zenobia Hadley. I suppose that was why I took my chance when I
did, why I----"

"Kyrle Ballard, you've finished your sandwich, haven't you?" breaks in
Zenobia. "There! It's striking twelve, and I make it a rule never to be
sentimental after midnight. You and Martha wouldn't enjoy meeting each
other; so you'll not be coming again. Besides, I've a busy week ahead of
me. When you get settled abroad again, though, you might let me know.
Good-night. Happy dreams."

And before Ballard can protest he's bein' shooed out.

"You'll take luncheon with me to-morrow," he calls back from his cab.

"Pr