ontinued gazing at her for a moment, in consideration, and
then, the topic changing to Florida in the winter, he apparently
forgot her.

At eleven o'clock they rose to go. Mrs. Thompson showed signs of
relief, and there was more warmth in the farewells than in any
previous interchange of amenities. Mr. Thompson laid his hand
affectionately on Mary Louise's shoulder as they stood in the doorway
into the hall. His manner was bluff and friendly:

"John tells me you're running the tea room over on Spruce Street.
Guess I'll have to drop in and see how you're doing."

She murmured her gratitude.

"Won't mind, will you, if I bring in anything on my hip? Tea's mighty
weak for a growing boy."

They all laughed, and as she and Claybrook made their way to the
elevator, the Thompsons stood in the hall calling gibes and parting
injunctions after them.

"Great old scout," commented Claybrook as they descended to the ground
floor. "Sure been a good friend to me."

Mary Louise felt her taut nerves slowly relaxing.

"What does he do?" she responded wearily.

"Contractor. Biggest in town." And then when they reached the street
and were climbing into the car, "Whadda you say to meeting me at five
o'clock to-morrow afternoon? Look at that Marlowe car you say you
like."

He was looking into her eyes with an odd sort of questioning
directness. She started to refuse, remembering her resolve to see him
less often. But then the thought of Joe Hooper presented itself. She
owed Joe a kindness or two. Perhaps if she delayed, Claybrook would
change his mind. She hesitated a moment.

"All right," she assented.

Claybrook laughed shortly. "You don't sound so keen, somehow. Don't
know if I can afford a Marlowe or not. You've a pretty extravagant
taste in automobiles. Only one of 'em higher priced than the
Marlowe."

"Oh, is it? I didn't know." And then, "But I don't see what my taste
has got to do with it. It's your affair, you know. I knew Joe Hooper,
that's all."

He was silent, but as he took leave of her at the doorway of her
apartment, he again brought up the subject in a quiet tone. "Meet me
at live to-morrow?"

"Surely," she agreed, and then went thoughtfully upstairs to bed.

As she slowly undressed she thought of Joe Hooper in his new "shepherd
plaid" suit and wondered if he were getting along. And she thought of
the Thompsons living in their bleak finery on the top floor of the
Ardmore, just sixty feet removed from the