ave me his word of honor he'd be waiting at Forty-fourth Street about
eleven on Friday. He intimated, ere I left, that he'd bring his
festive accouterments with him. And he did.

We were a bit late--Natica and I. It must have been a quarter past the
hour when we drove up to Cherry's. I felt reasonably certain that if
Jack Drayton were guarding a champagne bucket by the corner table that
night, he was located then. In the offing, miserably self-conscious, a
crush hat on the back of his really fine head, and two or three small
locomotive headlights glinting from his broad expanse of evening
shirt, was "Boiler-plate" Hartopp. The flunkeys were regarding him
curiously, and once a waiter-captain came out and gave him what seemed
to be an unsatisfactory report.

I think the man was just about to take the count from sheer nerves,
when he made me out in the doorway. Natica winked--actually winked at
me--as he floundered over his share of the introduction. Looking at
her, and faintly divining her mood that night, I felt sorry for Jack,
for "Boiler-plate" and for myself. I left them for a moment and went
in to see about my table. Two minutes later I emerged, to face Drayton
and the Hartopp unloading from an electric hansom. The under-toned
remark of one of the footman came to me: "A bit behind schedule time
to-night, eh, Charley?"

There wasn't anything to do then, for they were fair inside.
"Boiler-plate" was finishing some elephantine pleasantry to Natica,
when he saw what I saw. A foolish grin rippled across his wide face.
"Hullo!" he said to the Hartopp, who looked properly peevish, and then
waspish, as she let her glance travel to Natica, who stood perfectly
poised and, I fancied, a trifle expectant. Drayton eyed them together
and in particular. The color streaked his forehead and faded out. Then
he saw me, and, although he never may have murder in his eyes again,
it was there at that choice moment. We weren't at all spectacular, you
mustn't think that. It was all very quick, and there were a lot of
people coming and going.

She was in instant command of the situation. Why shouldn't she have
been, having created it? And unexpectedly, suddenly as she had
encountered her quarry, equally suddenly she shifted her position,
without the time to take me into her confidence.

"Don't bother about our table, Percy," she said. "Now that we've met
friends, it will be jollier to dine _en famille_. It will be ever so
much nicer than