are me!" she begged, in well-counterfeited dismay. "One would
think----"

"One would not think anything of you that he ought not to think," he
broke in gravely; adding: "We are a long way past the Alleghanies now,
and I am glad you are aware of an America somewhat broader than it is
long. Do I know any of your sight-seers, besides Mrs. Van Bryck?"

"I don't know; I'll list them for you," she offered. "There are Major
Blacklock, United States Engineers, retired, who always says, 'H'm--ha!'
before he contradicts you; the major's nieces, Madge and Margery
Cantrell--the idea of splitting one name for two girls in the same
family!--and the major's son, Jerry, most hopeful when he is pitted
against other young savages on the football field. All strangers, so
far?"

Ballard nodded, and she went on.

"Then there are Mrs. Van Bryck and Dosia--I am sure you have met them;
and Hetty Bigelow, their cousin, twice removed, whom you have never met,
if Cousin Janet could help it; and Hetty's brother, Lucius, who is
something or other in the Forestry Service. Let me see; how many is
that?"

"Eight," said Ballard, "counting the negligible Miss Bigelow and her
tree-nursing brother."

"Good. I merely wanted to make sure you were paying attention. Last, but
by no means least, there is Mr. Wingfield--_the_ Mr. Wingfield, who
writes plays."

Without ever having been suffered to declare himself Miss Elsa's lover,
Ballard resented the saving of the playwright for the climax; also, he
resented the respectful awe, real or assumed, with which his name was
paraded.

"Let me remember," he said, with the frown reflective. "I believe it was
Jack Forsyth the last time you confided in me. Is it Mr. Wingfield now?"

"Would you listen!" she laughed; but he made quite sure there was a
blush to go with the laugh. "Do you expect me to tell you about it here
and now?--with Mr. Wingfield sitting just three seats back of me, on the
right?"

Ballard scowled, looked as directed, and took the measure of his latest
rival.

Wingfield was at a table for four, with Mrs. Van Bryck, her daughter,
and a shock-headed young man, whom Ballard took to be the
football-playing Blacklock. In defiance of the clean-shaven custom of
the moment, or, perhaps, because he was willing to individualise
himself, the playwright wore a beard closely trimmed and pointed in the
French manner; this, the quick-grasping eyes, and a certain vulpine
showing of white teeth when he