e. As she gave him his tea he noticed it was in the
only unchipped cup, and on the one kept for herself there was no
handle. Under his breath he swore softly. Why--He mentally shook
himself. This was no time for why-ing.

[Illustration: "WHICH DO YOU LIKE BEST, SARDINES WITH LEMON ON 'EM, OR
TOASTED CHEESE ON TOAST?"]

As an appetizer the toasted cheese on toasted bread was excellent, but
the supper--if she had only let him get it. He had not dared insist,
and never had he been more consciously a guest, but could people live
on fare so scant as this? It was like Frances to want to know how
other people lived--and not to be content with knowing. But after she
knew how could she sleep at night? Great God! If there was to be a day
of judgment what could men say--men like himself and his friends?

CHAPTER VII

For half an hour longer Carmencita chatted gaily, offering dish after
dish of imaginary food with the assurance that it would cause no
sickness or discomfort, and at the child's spirit and imagination Van
Landing marveled. The years of ignorance and indifference, in which he
had not cared to know what Frances knew all men should know, came back
disquietingly, and he wondered if for him it were too late.

As Carmencita got up to clear the table he took out his watch and
looked at it, then put it quickly back lest she should see. Who was
going to take the note? Why couldn't he go to the place at which was
held the class of Little Big Sisters and get Frances? With a quick
indrawing breath he handed his host cigars.

"I hope you smoke," he said; "that is, if Carmencita does not object."

"Oh, I don't object. Smoke!" Carmencita's hand was waved. "After I
wash the dishes I'll write the note, then I'll go down and get Noodles
to take it. I'll ask Mr. Robinsky to bring the harp up, Father. He
brought it home for us; he's a flute-er." The explanation was made to
Van Landing. "He always brings it home when Father and I are going
somewhere else. Smoke, please. I love to smell smoke smell."

With a splash the remaining water in the tea-kettle was poured in the
dish-pan, and for a few moments the clatter of knives and forks and
spoons prevented talk. Over the blind man's face crept the content
that comes from a good cigar, and in silence he and his guest smoked
while Carmencita did her work. Not long was there silence, however,
for very shortly the child was on a stool at Van Landing's feet, in
her hands a pad of