et at half-past six, but both Adele and Wallace were
late, and John and Martie had half an hour's talk while they waited.
Martie fairly bubbled in her joy at the chance to speak of books and
poems, ideals and reforms again. She told him frankly and happily that
she had missed him; she had wanted to see him so many times! And he
looked tired; he had had grippe?

"Always motherly!" he said, a smile on the strange mouth, but no
corresponding smile in the faunlike eyes.

Wallace arrived in a bad mood, as Martie instantly perceived. But
Adele, radiant in a new hat, was prettily concerned for his cold and
fatigue, and they were quickly escorted to a table near the fountain,
and supplied with cocktails. Cheered, Wallace demanded the
bill-of-fare, "the table-d'hote, Handsome!" said he to the appreciative
waiter.

The man lowered his head and murmured obsequiously. The table-d'hote
dinner was served only on the balcony, sir.

This caused a halt in the rising gaiety. The group looked a little
blank. They were established here, the ladies had surrendered their
wraps, envious late-comers were eying their table. Still Martie did not
hesitate. She straightened back in her chair, and pushed her hands at
full length upon the table, preliminary to rising.

"Then we'll go up!" she said sensibly. But Wallace demurred. What was
the difference! They would stay here.

The difference proved to be about twenty dollars.

"I hope it was worth it to you!" Wallace said bitterly to his wife at
breakfast the next day. "Twenty-six dollars the check was. It was worth
about twenty-six cents to me!"

"But, Wallie, you didn't have to order wine!"

"I didn't expect to order it, and if that boob had had the sense to
know it, it was up to him to pay for it!"

"Why, he's a perfect babe-in-the-woods about such things, Wallie! And
none of us wanted it!" Martie tried to speak quietly, but at the memory
of the night before her anger began to smoulder. Wallace had
deliberately urged the ordering of wine, John quite as innocently
disclaimed it. Adele had laughed that she could always manage a glass
of champagne; Martie had merely murmured, "But we don't need it,
Wallie; we've had so much now!"

"We couldn't sit there holding that table down all evening," Wallace
said now. Martie with a great effort kept silence. Opening his paper,
her husband finished the subject sharply. "I want to tell you right
now, Mart, that with me ordering the dinner, it was u