ers? Why, man,
haven't you a heart? If she was booked for Paradise instead of Paris
she couldn't be any happier. Don't be foolish! Your trunks are on the
'Plutonia' and on the 'Plutonia' you'll be to-night. It's the best thing
that can happen to you. I did it on purpose. You'll thank me come day."

I didn't thank him then.

We returned to the hotel at twelve-thirty, my pocket-book loaded with
tickets and letters of credit and unfamiliar white paper notes bearing
the name of the Bank of England. Hephzibah was still in the rocking
chair. I am sure she had not left it.

We lunched in the hotel dining-room. Campbell ordered the luncheon and
paid for it while Hephzibah exclaimed at his extravagance. She was
too excited to eat much and too worried concerning the extent of her
wardrobe to talk of less important matters.

"Oh dear, Hosy!" she wailed, "WHY didn't I buy another best dress. DO
you suppose my black one will be good enough? All those lords and
ladies and millionaires on the 'Plutonia'! Won't they think I'm dreadful
poverty-stricken. I saw a dress I wanted awfully--in one of those Boston
stores it was; but I didn't buy it because it was so dear. And I didn't
tell you I wanted it because I knew if I did you'd buy it. You're so
reckless with money. But now I wish I'd bought it myself. What WILL all
those rich people think of me?"

"About what they think of me, Hephzy, I imagine," I answered, ruefully.
"Jim here has put up a joke on us. He is the only one who is getting any
fun out of it."

Jim, for a wonder, was serious. "Miss Cahoon," he declared, earnestly,
"don't worry. I'm sure the black silk is all right; but if it wasn't
it wouldn't make any difference. On the 'Plutonia' nobody notices other
people's clothes. Most of them are too busy noticing their own. If Kent
has his evening togs and you have the black silk you'll pass muster.
You'll have a gorgeous time. I only wish I was going with you."

He repeated the wish several times during the afternoon. He insisted on
taking us to a matinee and Hephzy's comments on the performance seemed
to amuse him hugely. It had been eleven years, so she said, since she
went to the theater.

"Unless you count 'Uncle Tom' or 'Ten Nights in a Barroom,' or some
of those other plays that come to Bayport," she added. "I suppose I'm
making a perfect fool of myself laughin' and cryin' over what's nothin'
but make-believe, but I can't help it. Isn't it splendid, Hosy! I wonder
w