Oh, well, Tony, that's absurd," declared Juliet Marcy severely. "As if
_she_ would allow it!"

"She's three thousand miles away."

"I'm ashamed of you!"

"Just in the interval, then," pleaded Anthony. "I need you now worse than
ever. For I've a tremendous responsibility on my hands. The--the--you
know--is to come off in September, and this is June--and I've a house to
furnish. Will you help me do it, Juliet?"

"_Anthony Robeson!_" she said explosively under her breath, with a laugh.
Then she sat up and leaned forward with a commanding gesture. "Tell me all
about it. What is her name and who is she? Where did you meet her? Are you
very much----"

"Would I marry a girl if I were not 'very much'?" demanded Anthony.
"Well--I'll tell you--since you insist on these non-essentials before you
really come down to business. Her name is Eleanor Langham, and she lives
in San Francisco. Her family is old, aristocratic, wealthy--yet she
condescends to me."

He looked up keenly into her eyes, and her brown lashes fell for an
instant before something in his glance, but she said quickly: "Go on."

"When the--affair--is over I want to bring my bride straight home,"
Anthony proceeded, with a tinge of colour in his smooth, clear cheek. "I
shall have no vacation to speak of at that time of year, and no time to
spend in furnishing a house. Yet I want it all ready for her. So you see I
need a friend. I shall have two weeks to spare in July, and if you would
help me--"

"But, Tony," she interrupted, "how could I? If--if we were seen shopping
together----"

"No, we couldn't go shopping together in New York without being liable to
run into a wondering crowd of friends, of course--not in the places where
you would want to go. But here you are only a couple of hours from Boston;
you will be here all summer; you and Mrs. Dingley and I could run into
Boston for a day at a time without anybody's being the wiser. I know--that
is--I'm confident Mrs. Dingley would do it for me----"

"Oh, of course. Did Auntie ever deny you anything since the days when she
used to give you jam as often as you came across to play with me?"

"Never."

"Have you _her_ photograph?" inquired Miss Marcy with an emphasis which
left no possible doubt as to whose photograph she meant.

"I expected that," said Anthony gravely. "I expected it even sooner. But I
am prepared."

She sat watching him curiously as he slowly drew from his breast-pocket a
tiny leather ca