ould _like_ for me to wear them."

I gasped.

"Jen--what's _that_?" I was amazed, indignant at Jenkins' effrontery.
"He--he suggested that you wear--er--these?"

She nodded, her glorious eyes shining wistfully.

"You see, I went to a frat dance last night in Cambridge," she
explained; "and in the hurry this morning, somehow, one of my bags--a
suit-case--was left behind. And when I got here to-night and began
piling the things out of my other bag--well, I saw I was up a tree. Not
a thing to slip into, you know--not so much as a dressing-gown or even a
bathrobe. Then your man saved my life--suggested these pajamas. See?"

"Oh, I see!"

I said so; but, dash it, I wasn't sure I did, for I knew so devilish
little about girls. But I got hold of this much: I understood that this
delicately reared creature had missed the restfulness and luxury of a
shift to some sort of dressing-robe after her day of travel. Probably
one of those ribbony, pinky-white fripperies one sees in the windows of
the Avenue shops, rosy, foamy dreams like the--well, like the crest of a
soda cocktail, don't you know. And the pajamas had been adopted as a
comfortable makeshift.

By Jove! And here she was sitting, calmly telling me all about it--just
as she might to Jack--never thinking a thing about it! My, how charming,
how innocent she was! But, dash it, that was the reason she was so
beautiful--of course, that was it--and I had never seen anybody like her
in all the world before. I knew jolly well I never should again, either.
But I knew I ought to go--and at once.

"I must cut along now," I thought; "infernal shame to be taking
advantage of her this way!" And then I thought I would just wait a wee
minute longer.

Just then she turned toward me, her elbow on the arm of the wicker
chair, her dainty, manicured finger-tips supporting her chin.

"You know, Mr. Lightnut, I wasn't sure you would remember me at all,"
she said. "I was such a kid when you saw me last."

"Oh, yes," I said, trying to recall the rather hoydenish children I had
seen on the motor trip to Billings' home five years before. "I remember
you were quite a little girl--weren't you?"

I thought her face darkened a little; then her smile flashed through,
like sunshine through a cloud. Her laugh came on top, like the mellow
ripple of a tiny brook--that sort of thing--oh, you know!

"Oh, I say now, Mr. Lightnut, cut out the josh," she remonstrated; and I
thought she grew a littl