ed that luncheon was ready.
As Philip held the curtains for her to precede him to the dining-room he
looked longingly at the sweet-scented blossoms in the window.

"I have seen nothing more delightful in years," he explained. "I am
old-fashioned enough not to care for palms or rubber plants."

"Another bond of friendship," smiled Winifred, lightly. "Shall I make
the salad dressing, or would you prefer to mix it yourself?" she asked,
after she had persuaded him to take the head of the table.

"I make a dressing that is the despair of my friends," she continued.
"So I make them shut their eyes when I mix it, else my one
accomplishment would be mine no longer."

Philip promised, with a smile, to "play fair." He delighted in the
housewifely nonsense, and ate the salad, though he hated olive oil.
"Salads are a woman's folly," he had once said. But he did not repeat
it.

"How do you like it?" Her mood suited the visitor. The light
conversation took his mind from the more serious purpose of his visit,
and Winifred's accent implied accepted friendship. He needed this
relaxation.

"I never cared for salads, before," he replied truthfully.

"Why did you eat it?"

"I ate it, and I liked it because you made it for me. I am not used to
being waited upon, and I rather like the experience."

"You poor man!" Winifred sympathized without reflection. "It must be
horrid not to have anyone to do things for you. I should think--I
mean----" she colored as she met Philip's eyes, "I mean--Charlie says
that I have spoiled him completely."

The advent of Blair relieved the girl from her condition of fragmentary
speech, and they talked of the Latimers and the political outlook for
the coming winter.

Danvers took his leave with a feeling of regret at parting from
unexpectedly congenial friends. How little he had known of Blair--the
good fellow. How cheery and unaffected Winifred was! The years were
bridged which had separated him from his kind, and as he walked down the
street he felt a glow of kindness toward all the world.

He called at the hotel, thinking Latimer might have returned, but Mrs.
Latimer pettishly denied any knowledge of his whereabouts. He often went
for long walks, she said, and seldom returned until late. "Won't you
stay until he returns?" she invited, but Danvers pleaded business.

Twice during the afternoon Danvers ran up to the judge's office, but
failed to find him until evening. Seeing a light in the inner