the check," he said. It amounted to two dollars
and ten cents. Warrington smiled. "Scarcely large enough to cause all
this trouble," he added reassuringly. "I will attend to it."

The waiter bowed and withdrew. So long as the check was paid he did
not care who paid it.

"Oh, it is so horribly embarrassing! What must you think of me?" She
twisted her gloves with a nervous strength which threatened to rend
them.

"May I give you a bit of friendly advice?" he asked.

She nodded, hiding the fall of the second tear.

"Well, never dine alone in public; at any rate, in the evening. It is
not wise for a woman to do so. She subjects herself to any number of
embarrassments."

She did not reply, and for a moment he believed that she was about to
break down completely. He aimlessly brushed the cigar ashes from the
tablecloth. He hated a scene in public. In the theater it was
different; it was a part of the petty round of business to have the
leading lady burst into tears when things didn't suit her. What fools
women are in general! But the girl surprised him by holding up
determinedly, and sinking her white teeth into her lips to smother the
sob which rose in her throat.

"Be seated," he said, drawing out the opposite chair.

A wave of alarm spread over her face. She clasped her hands.

"Sir, if you are a gentleman--"

Warrington interrupted her by giving her his card, which was
addressed. She glanced at it through a blur of tears, then sat down.
He shrugged his shoulders slightly; his vanity was touched. There was,
then, a young woman in New York who had not heard of Richard
Warrington.

"In asking you to be seated," he explained, "it was in order that you
might wait in comfort while I despatched a messenger to your home.
Doubtless you have a brother, a father, or some male relative, who
will come at once to your assistance." Which proved that Warrington
was prudent.

But instead of brightening as he expected she would, she straightened
in her chair, while her eyes widened with horror, as if she saw
something frightful in perspective.

What the deuce could be the matter now? he wondered, as he witnessed
this inexplicable change.

"No, no! You must not send a messenger!" she protested.

"But--"

"No, no!" tears welling into her beautiful eyes again. They were
beautiful, he was forced to admit.

"But," he persisted, "you wished the waiter to do so. I do not
understand." His tone became formal again.

"I ha