ves
comfortable, and I'll listen to both of you," she said with a demure
little devil in her eye. "I haven't seen you for ages, and I don't know
when the good moment will come again." She included the two men in a
friendly smile, waved a hand toward the waiting chairs, and adjusted a
light shawl over the shoulders of Madame Reynier.

But Aleck by this time had the bit in his teeth and would not be coaxed.
His ordinarily cool eye rested wrathfully on the broad shoulders of Mr.
Lloyd-Jones, who was lighting a cigarette, and he turned abruptly to Miss
Reynier. His voice was as serious as if Parliament, at least, had been
hanging on his words.

"May I call to-morrow, Miss Reynier, at about twelve?"

"Oh, I say," put in Jones, "all of you come to luncheon with me at the
Little Gray Fox--will you? Capital place and all sorts of nice people.
Do come. About one."

Van Camp could have slain him.

"I think my proposition a prior one," he remarked with dogged precision;
"but, of course, Miss Reynier must decide." He recovered his temper
enough to add, quite pleasantly, considering the circumstances, "Unless
Madame Reynier will take my part?" turning to the older woman.

"Oh, no, not fair," shouted Jones. "Madame Reynier's always on my side.
Aren't you, Madame?"

Madame Reynier smiled inscrutably. "I'm always on the side of virtue in
distress," she said.

"That's me, then, isn't it? The way you're abusing me, Mademoiselle,
listening here to Van Camp all the evening!"

But Melanie, tired, perhaps, of being patiently tactful, settled the
matter. "I can't go to luncheon with anybody, to-morrow," she protested.
"I've had a touch of that arch-enemy, indigestion, you see; and I can't
do anything but my prescribed exercises, nor drink anything but distilled
water--"

"Nor eat anything but food! We know," cried the irrepressible Jones.
"But the Little Gray Fox has a special diet for just such cases as yours.
Do come!"

"Heavens! Then I don't want to go there!" groaned Aleck.

Melanie gave Jones her hand, half in thanks and half in farewell. "No,
thank you, not to-morrow, but sometime soon; perhaps Thursday. Will that
do?" she smiled. Then, as Jones was discontentedly lounging about the
door, she did a pretty thing. Turning from the door, she stood with face
averted from everybody except Van Camp, and for an instant her eyes met
his in a friendly, half-humorous but wholly non-committal glance. His
eyes held