in love with Carlisle came up four times
with Willing, called five times in between, and became host at two of
the "out" evenings for the party of four. Carlisle forbore to give him
any encouragement, though she rather liked his eyes, and the way his
mouth slanted up at the right corner.

"I'm wild about you," said he, on her last evening,--his name, if it is
of the smallest interest, was Pierce Watkins, Jr.,--"I'll shoot myself
on your doorstep to-morrow if it'll give you even a moment of pleasure."

Carlisle assured him that she desired no suicidal attentions.

"You're the loveliest thing I ever looked at," said he, huskily. "God
bless you for that, anyway. And no matter what else happens to me, I'll
love you till I die."

"Don't look so glum, Mr. Watkins dear," said Cally.

They did not go to any matinee on the last afternoon, the reason being
that it was Monday and there weren't any, except the vaudevilles, which
were voted tiresome. Florrie and Carlisle lunched quietly at "home"; had
a rubber of bridge afterwards in the apartment of Edith Jennison (who
produced for the necessary fourth an acquaintance she had made last week
in the tea-room of the Waldorf-Astoria); and rushed from the table for
hats, veils, and a drive on the Avenue.

Carlisle was to leave at ten o'clock. Her trunks were packed; her
"reservations" lay in the heavy gold bag swinging from her side. Home,
somehow, beckoned to her as it had never done before. Besides, New York,
with its swarming population (mostly with palms up) and its ceaseless
quadruple lines of motor-cars, began to oppress her.

"It's too full of people," she laughed to Mrs. Willing as they shot down
in the lift. "It's too big. Some day it will swell up and burst."

"Why, that's the fun of it, rusticus! How I love the roar!"

"I like it, too," said Carlisle. "But I do think it's nice to live in a
city where you can _some_times cross Main Street without asking four
policemen, and then probably having your leg picked off, after all."

They dashed across the onyx lobby for the main entrance, as fast as they
could go, Mrs. Willing remarking that they were almost too late to catch
the crowds as it was. From the small blue-velvet parlor, across the
corridor from the clerk's desk, a tall man rose at the sight of them,
and came straight forward. For a moment Carlisle's heart stopped beating
as she saw that it was Hugo Canning.

He advanced with his eyes upon her, brought her to a