happy. The vision, a little disturbing, a
little shameful, but yet sweet, was quite gone.)

"Tell me about this girl with the molasses hair. She interests me. And
a lot about yourself."

"Oh, I've forgotten most about her long ago. And I've something else
to remember now, I hope. I'd like to talk about myself, though. I'd
like some girl to hear about my ambitions. I really think it would do
me good."

He stopped, as though expecting an answer. None came. He bent his eyes
closer on her and repeated:

"It would!"

And at that moment, a pair of high heels tapped in the doorway, a
cheerful voice called for admission through the portieres, and enter
Kate Waddington. Mr. Chester, Eleanor saw, rose to her entrance as one
who has not always risen for women; there was something premeditated
about the movement.

"Mrs. Tiffany said you two were in here," she began in her full, rich
contralto, "and I made so bold, Nell--Mrs. Masters is taking a party
over to their ranch next Sunday. One of her men has disappointed her
and she's just telephoned to give me the commission to fill his place.
Mr. Chester, you are an inspiration sent straight from Heaven. Any
other man, positively any other, would be a second choice--but she
didn't know you when she made up the party, so how could she have
invited you?"

She paused and threw an arch look past Eleanor.

"Sure I'll come!" said Bertram, jarred into the vernacular by his
internal emotion of pleasant surprise. "Sure--I'd be delighted."

"I told Mrs. Masters you'd be the ready accepter," said Kate.

"You're going too, aren't you?" asked Bertram of Eleanor.

"No; I had to decline, I'm sorry to say."

"And I'm sorry; blame sorry." He turned back toward Kate Waddington,
and she, the lightning-minded, read his expression. He had made a
great _faux pas_; he had seemed more eager toward Eleanor, to whom he
owed no gratitude for the invitation, than toward her.

"Would you care to drop in on Mrs. Masters as you go down town to let
her know that you are coming? Or if you wish I'll tell them--I'm going
now--that way." Her tone gave the very slightest hint of pique; her
attitude put a suggestion. The game, plain as day to Eleanor, raised
up in her only a film of resentment. Mainly, she was enjoying the
humor of it.

Bertram rose promptly.

"It is time I was going," he said. "I've enjoyed myself very much,
Miss Gray. If you don't mind, I'd like to come to see you again."

"And I'll