a new channel. But, naturally
enough, he wanted to understand precisely where he stood. In a word,
the egg was excellent in its constituents, but lacked the exuberant
freshness of the newly-laid article.

Hence, while the Earl nearly choked with indignation at sight of that
entry in the visitors' book at the Plaza--"Mr. and Lady Hermione
Curtis, Pekin,"--mistress and maid were once more discussing the
astounding things which had taken place since the moment when John
Delancy Curtis rang the bell at Flat 10 in Number 1000 59th Street.

"If only I knew how to act for the best!" wailed Hermione half
tearfully. "I am afraid, Marcelle, I have been too egotistical, too
much concerned about myself, I mean, and far too regardless of others.
I have allowed Mr. Curtis to place himself in a dreadful position----"

"I'm sure, miladi, he doesn't think so," interrupted Marcelle
breathlessly.

"That is the worst feature of it, to my thinking. He is making all the
sacrifice."

"What! To get a wife like you, miladi!"

"I am _not_ his wife."

"Well, you are not married like folk who go away for a honeymoon and
find rice in their clothes every day for a week, but Mr. Curtis says,
miladi, that you are his wife right enough in the eyes of the law, and
I'm sure he admires you immensely already, so there's no telling----"

"Marcelle, do you imagine for one single instant that I would really
marry any man who took me as a favor, who conferred an obligation on
me, who came to my assistance in a moment of despair?"

"No, miladi, not if he thought those things. But I have a sort of
notion that Mr. Curtis would hurt any other man who suggested any of
them, and it is easy to see by the very way he looks at you----"

"Oh, have pity, and don't harp on that string! I can be nothing to
him. You mistake his kindness for something which is so utterly
impossible that it almost drives me to hysteria to hear it even spoken
of."

Marcelle knew better. In some recess of her own acute mind she felt
that Lady Hermione's heightened color and shining eyes were due to just
that wild and irresponsible conceit which they were debating. Indeed,
Hermione could not leave the topic alone. She forbade it, rejected it,
stormed at its folly, yet came back to it like a child held spellbound
by some terrifying yet fascinating object.

The maid was racking her brain for some feminine argument which should
convince an impulsive mistress that Curtis mi