out it all the way home can't put
it off on account of a couple of idiots who stand and stare instead of
politely turning their backs. Oh, don't mention it--it doesn't disturb me
at all; and Mrs. Robeson is becoming reconciled to my impetuosity by
degrees. Make yourselves at home, boys. Juliet----"

"Take them upstairs, Tony, please. Of course we can't let them go back
to-night, now we have them. It's beginning to storm heavily, isn't it? I
thought so. Take them to the guest-room, Tony--and dinner will be served
as soon as you are down."

* * * * *

"By Jupiter, I believe she means it," declared the doctor, with approval,
as the door of the bedroom closed on his host. "I think I can tell when a
woman is shamming. She's improved, hasn't she, tremendously? Pretty girl
always, but--well--bloomed now. Nice little house. Believe I'll have to
stay, though I ought not--just to take observations on Tony. His
enthusiasm has all the appearance of reality. In fact, it strikes me he
has rather----"

It was on his lips to say "rather more than you have," but it occurred to
him in time that jokes on this ground are dangerous. Wayne Carey had been
married in November, was living in a somewhat unpretentious way in a
downtown boarding-house, and certainly had to-night so much of a lost-dog
air that it made the doctor pause. So he substituted: "--rather more than
I should have expected, even of a fellow who has got the girl he has
wanted all his life," and fell to washing and brushing vigorously, eyeing
meanwhile the little room with a critical bachelor's appreciation of
beauty and comfort in the quarters he is to occupy. It was very simply
furnished, certainly, but it struck him as a place where his dreams were
likely to be pleasant for every reason in the world.

Downstairs, Juliet, in the dining-room, was surveying her table with the
hostess's satisfaction. Opposite her stood a tall and slender girl,
black-haired, black-eyed, with a face of great attractiveness.

"I wish, Mrs. Robeson," she was saying eagerly, "you would let me serve
you as your maid, and not make a guest of me. Really, I should love to do
it. I don't need to meet your friends, and I don't mind seeming what I
really am--your----"

"Rachel Redding," Juliet interrupted, lifting an affectionate glance
across the table, "if you want to seem what you really are--my friend--you
will let me do as I like."

"My shabby cloth