Chow," she said. "Your name is John. Won't Jack do?"

"Fine." It was lucky she could not see the smile that flitted across
his face. "And yours?"

"Mamma always used my full name, and I have never had anyone else to
give me a pet name, unless it was 'Tatters' at school."

"We might bracket Tatters with Chow, and dismiss both," he said
lightly. "And I like the sound of Hermione so well that it is pat on
my lips already. . . . Now, you, Marcelle--remember that her ladyship
has become Lady Hermione Curtis."

"Oh, not Mrs. Curtis?"

"No. An earl's daughter retains her courtesy title after marriage."

"All right, sir. I shan't forget." Indeed, Marcelle was jubilant.
She had been "dying" to use her mistress's title, once she became aware
of it, but it was taboo at 59th Street.

Curtis had covered a good deal of ground during that brief discussion
in the cab, but Hermione was not quite prepared for its logical sequel
in the hotel.

Naturally, they attracted no unusual attention when they entered the
hotel. Other people merely noticed the passing of a distinguished
looking young man in evening dress--for Curtis had promptly whipped off
that ominous overcoat--and a slender, veiled lady, of elegant carriage,
who walked up to the bureau, followed by a smartly dressed girl who
gazed about her with bright, all-seeing eyes.

[Illustration: Scenes from the photo-drama.]

"My wife and I have been detained in New York this evening
unexpectedly," explained Curtis to the hotel clerk. "We want a suite
of rooms, a sitting-room, three bedrooms with baths--you would like
Marcelle's room to communicate with yours, wouldn't you, dear?" and he
turned suddenly to Hermione.

"Y-yes," she faltered, for the attack took her unaware.

"What floor, sir? We have a nice suite on the tenth."

"Not so high, please," said Hermione. Then she sprung a mine on her
own account. "I know it is stupid, Jack, darling, but I am so afraid
of fire."

"This hotel is absolutely fireproof, madam," put in the clerk, stating
a fact implicitly believed by every hotel proprietor in New York in so
far as his own building is concerned, "but we can accommodate you on
the second floor, Suite F., fifty dollars a day."

"Thank you. That will be just right," said Curtis quickly, for he
meant to live like a prince during one night at least, let the morrow
bring its own cares. "Now, you understand that we are here without
baggage, though my wife's m