ht his at
that moment and in them was a light so curious, so alive with hidden
meanings, so eloquent of some iron restraint she put upon her own
emotions, that he became confused and turned his gaze from hers almost
with the rebuking glare of Henshaw. She glanced quickly at him again,
studying his face for the first time. There had been such a queer look
in this young man's eyes; she understood most looks, but not that one.

Henshaw was treating the late interruption as if it had not been. "You
see, Governor, the way we got the script now, they're in this tomb alone
for the night--understand what I mean--and that's where the kick comes
for the audience. They know he's a strong young fellow and she's a
beautiful girl and absolutely in his power--see what I mean?--but he's
a gentleman through and through and never lays a hand on her. Get that?
Then later along comes this Ben Ali Ahab--"

The Montague girl glanced again at the face of the strange young man
whose eyes had held a new expression for her, but she and Mr. Henshaw
and the so-called governor and all those other diners who rattled thick
crockery and talked unendingly had ceased to exist for Merton Gill.
A dozen tables down the room and nearer the door sat none other than
Beulah Baxter. Alone at her table, she gazed raptly aloft, meditating
perhaps some daring new feat. Merton Gill stared, entranced, frozen.
The Montague girl perfectly understood this look and traced it to its
object. Then she surveyed Merton Gill again with something faintly like
pity in her shrewd eyes. He was still staring, still rapt.

Beulah Baxter ceased to look aloft. She daintily reached for a wooden
toothpick from the bowl before her and arose to pay her check at the
near-by counter. Merton Gill arose at the same moment and stumbled a
blind way through the intervening tables. When he reached the counter
Miss Baxter was passing through the door. He was about to follow her
when a cool but cynical voice from the counter said, "Hey, Bill--ain't
you fergittin' somepin'."

He looked for the check for his meal; it should have been in one hand or
the other. But it was in neither. He must have left it back on his tray.
Now he must return for it. He went as quickly as he could. The Montague
girl was holding it up as he approached. "Here's the little joker, Kid,"
she said kindly.

"Thanks!" said Merton. He said it haughtily, not meaning to be haughty,
but he was embarrassed and also fearful that