No, not the slightest idea."

"That was young Router, the son of the great Router."

"Who is the-great-Router?"

"The great pork man. His son is the one who is so attentive to Miss
Dangerlie."

"I am glad he closed the drawer," said Floyd, quietly.

"He is said to be engaged to her," said the gentleman.

"He is not engaged to her," said Floyd.

Later on he was talking to Miss Dangerlie. He had taken her out of the
throng. "Do you know who introduced me to you?" he asked.

"Yes, Mrs. Drivington."

"No, a little girl."

"Who? Why, don't you remember! I am surprised. It was just in the
doorway!"

"Oh! yes, I remember well enough. I met a beauty there, but I did not
care for her. I met you first on the stairway, and a child introduced
me."

"Children interest me, they always admire one," she said.

"They interest me, I always admire them," he said. "They are true."

She was silent, then changed the subject.

"A singular little incident befell me this evening," she said. "As I was
coming home from a luncheon-party, a wretched woman stopped me and asked
me to let her look at me."

"You did it, of course," he said.

She looked at him with her eyes wide open with surprise.

"What do you suppose a man said to me upstairs?" he asked her.

"What?"

"That you were engaged to someone."

"What! That I was engaged! To whom, pray?" She looked incredulous.

"To a fellow I saw up there--Mr. 'Router', I think he said was his
name."

"The idea! Engaged to Mr. Router! You did not believe him, did you?"

"No, of course I did not; I trust you entirely."

She buried her face in the roses she held in her hand, and did not
speak. Her other hand rested on the arm of her chair next him. It was
fine and white. He laid his on it firmly, and leaning towards her, said,
"I beg your pardon for mentioning it. I am not surprised that you are
hurt. Forgive me. I could not care for you so much if I did not believe
in you."

"It was so kind in you to send me these roses," she said. "Aren't they
beautiful?"

She turned them round and gazed at them with her face slightly averted.

"Yes, they are, and yet I hate to see them tied that way; I ordered them
sent to you loose. I always like to think of you as arranging roses."

"Yes, I love to arrange them myself," she said.

"The fact is, as beautiful as those are, I believe I like better
the old-fashioned roses right out of the dew. I suppose it is old
association. But I kno