light blazing
at its lower windows, wearing an aspect of elderly and beneficent
reminiscence. An electric bulb by the gate lighted a small swinging sign
inscribed in antique type, "The Sign of the Tea-pot. Lunch, tea and
dancing."

"Down-at-the-heels gentility gone into trade," smiled Marcia.

Paul Burton halted and listened, but the dancing had ended and the old
house was silent.

"I wonder," he ventured, "if the tea-pot is still on duty."

"By this time," she laughed, "it would have tucked its head under its
wing and gone to roost."

"Let's try it, none the less," he challenged, and with the spirit of two
children on a lark they opened the creaking gate and traversed the
brick walk, arm in arm.

In answer to their knock, which echoed through the place, there came
after a time a pleasant-faced elderly woman to the door. For a few
moments she reflected, then decided that, although it was a little late,
she would undertake to produce some sort of a supper--if they would make
allowances for its deficient quality.

The scene seemed set for adventure, even romance. In a large, pleasantly
furnished room glowed a cheery fire, and as they waited they sat before
it, falling silent, and Marcia's face continued to smile. She had
learned to make the most of a pleasant moment while it lasted and to
leave regrets until they forced themselves.

When they had finished an excellent supper and the woman had withdrawn
they asked and received permission to linger a while before the inviting
hearth.

Abruptly Marcia looked up and announced, "I forgive you your
disobedience. I'm glad you came. You can't imagine how lonely it's
been." Her small nose puckered fastidiously as she added, "The company
is odious and I hate the play and the hotels provide unfinished
road-beds to sleep on and I've been headachy and altogether miserable."
Then she broke off and laughed again, "Which will be about enough
Jeremiad for the present. Have you missed me?"

Paul Burton bent forward and studied the red tip of his cigar. It seemed
to him that he had missed her more than he had ever missed anyone else.
For the first time since the terrible day in the Street with its
battalion of misfortunes, his heart felt at rest and his nerves quiet.

He tossed the cigar away and took her hands in his. Deep in her eyes
glowed a quiet tenderness and her breath quickened. The man seated
himself on the arm of her deep chair, passing one arm about her and
holdin