Is that so?"
she said. "Well, I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Perlmutter."

"So, naturally, I don't feel so bad as I might about it," Morris
went on.

"Naturally?" the lady commented. She looked about her apprehensively.
"Perhaps we'd better go back to the Prince William. Don't you think so?"

"Why, you was going up to the Heatherbloom Inn with Max Tuchman, wasn't
you?" Morris said.

"How did you find _that_ out?" she asked.

"A small-size bird told it me," Morris replied jocularly. "But,
anyhow, no jokes nor nothing, why shouldn't we go up and have
lunch at the Heatherbloom Inn? And then you can come down and
look at our line, anyhow."

"Well," said the lady, "if you can show me those suits as well as Mr.
Tuchman could, I suppose it really won't make any difference."

"I can show 'em to you _better_ than Mr. Tuchman could," Morris said;
"and now so long as you are content to come downtown we won't talk
business no more till we get there."

They had an excellent lunch at the Heatherbloom Inn, and many a hearty
laugh from the lady testified to her appreciation of Morris' naive
conversation. The hour passed pleasantly for Morris, too, since the
lady's unaffected simplicity set him entirely at his ease. To be sure,
she was neither young nor handsome, but she had all the charm that
self-reliance and ability give to a woman.

"A good, smart, business head she's got it," Morris said to himself,
"and I wish I could remember that name."

Had he not feared that his companion might think it strange, he would
have asked her name outright. Once he called her Miss Aaronson, but the
look of amazement with which she favored him effectually discouraged
him from further experiment in that direction. Thenceforth he called
her "lady," a title which made her smile and seemed to keep her in
excellent humor.

At length they concluded their meal--quite a modest repast and
comparatively reasonable in price--and as they rose to leave Morris
looked toward the door and gasped involuntarily. He could hardly believe
his senses, for there blocking the entrance stood a familiar bearded
figure. It was Marcus Bramson--the conservative, back-number Marcus
Bramson--and against him leaned a tall, stout person not quite as young
as her clothes and wearing a large picture hat. Obviously this was not
Mrs. Bramson, and the blush with which Marcus Bramson recognized Morris
only confirmed the latter's suspicions.

Mr. Bramson murmured a few words t