ven a certain daintiness with a cleverly placed
ribbon or two and an adroit use of pins. Privately, Hal considered that
she looked delightfully pretty, with her provocative eyes and the deep
gleam of red in her hair like flame seen through smoke.

"Do you often go out wading, ten miles from home?" he asked.

"Not very. I was running away."

"I didn't see any one in pursuit."

"They knew too much." Her firm little chin set rather grimly. "Do you
want to hear about it?"

"Yes. I'm curious," confessed Hal.

"I went to lunch with another girl and a couple of drummers, out at
Callender's Pond Hotel. She said she knew the men and they were all
right. They weren't. They got too fresh altogether. So I told Florence
she could do as she pleased, but I was for home and the trolley. I
guess I could have made it with a life-preserver," she laughed.

Hal was surprisedly conscious of a rasp of anger within him. "You ought
not to put yourself into such a position," he declared.

She threw him a covert glance from the corner of her sparkling eyes.
"Oh, I guess I can take care of myself," she decided calmly. "I always
have. When fresh drummers begin to talk private dining-room and cold
bottles, I spread my little wings and flit."

"To another private room," mocked Hal. "Aren't you afraid?"

"With you? You're different." There sounded in her voice the purring
note of utter content which is the subtlest because the most unconscious
flattery of womankind.

A silence fell between them. Hal stared into the fire.

"Are you warm enough?" he asked presently.

"Yes."

"Do you want something to eat? Or drink? What did you have to drink?" he
added, glancing at the empty glass on the table.

"Certina."

"Certina?" he queried, uncertain at first whether she was joking. "How
could you get Certina here?"

"Why not? They keep it at all these places. There's quite a bar-trade in
it."

"Is that so?" said Hal, with a vague feeling of disturbance of ideas.
"Which job do you like best: the Certina or the newspaper, Miss Neal?"

"My other boss calls me Milly," she suggested.

"Very well,--Milly, then."

"Oh, I'm for the office. It's more exciting, a lot."

"Your stuff," said Hal, in the language of the cult, "is catching on."

"You don't like it, though," she countered quickly.

"Yes, I do. Much better than I did, anyway. But the point is that it's
a success. Editorially I _have_ to like it."

"I'd rather you liked it personall