aborate presentation speeches, to the merrier and
prettier of the neglected ladies.

From this expedition, he returned leading a little, sad man, who had
the look of a boy grown old by troubles. A bleached-blonde woman
followed them half-way across, but centre room she turned back with a
stamp of her foot and a flourish of her shoulders.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Bertram announced, "I desire the privilege of
introducing Teddy Murphy, California's premier jockey, lately set down
on an outrageously false charge of pulling a horse. He is here, ladies
and gentlemen, to tell you his troubles!"

A moment of silent embarrassment on both sides.

"Here--take my chair, Mr. Murphy!" spoke Kate from the foot of the
table. The next table, set _a deux_, had just become vacant. Kate
slipped into its nearest chair. Bertram's seat was back by the wall;
to reach it, he must step over feet and so interrupt Mr. Murphy's tale
of wrong. Nothing was more natural than that he should take the seat
opposite Kate. And instantly--he having heard the story
already--Bertram lost interest.

"Would you mind getting my muff?" asked Kate. "I think my handkerchief
is in it."

As Bertram handed over the muff, she was smiling up at him. She did
not look down until she had taken out her handkerchief, flirted out
its folds. Then a little, disconcerted "oh!" escaped her.

"What is it?"

Kate was shaking out her skirt, was glancing rapidly to right and
left. "Goodness!" she cried.

"What's the matter?"

"A letter. Have you seen it?"

Bertram looked under the table. There it lay, by his chair. He picked
it up and passed it over.

"Oh!" she cried again, this time in a tone balanced between relief and
embarrassment. She tucked it back into her muff, and her eyes avoided
his. He noted all this pantomime, and he was about to speak, when Mrs.
Masters touched Kate on the shoulder. "My dear, you're missing this!"
she whispered.

Kate put all her attention upon Mr. Murphy and his burning story about
the pulling of Candlestick. Mr. Murphy grew a little too broad; Mrs.
Masters, as the easiest way rid of him, rose and asked for her wraps.
As Bertram assisted Kate, he saw her reach an anxious hand into her
muff.

Outside, she contrived a loose shoe lace, so that she and Bertram fell
behind. She did not approach the subject of the letter; that came up
later and, of course, quite incidentally.

"Anything to confide in me to-night?" she began.

"Oh, noth