look at that?" he growled.

"It's too bad," she said, sympathetically.

"You know I thought a she-tiger had got loose from the Bronx and jumped
on me."

"I'm awfully sorry," she apologized. "Ella's very fond of me. She was
trying to protect me. She couldn't see who it was in the dark."

"No; I reckon not," Jim laughed.

"I've changed our plans for the evening," she announced. "We won't go
to ride tonight. I want you to bring my best friend to dinner with us at
Mouquin's. Go after her in the car. I want to impress her----"

"I got you, Kiddo! She's goin' to look me over--eh? All right, I'll
stop at the store and get a clean collar. I wouldn't like her to see the
print of that tiger's claw on my neck."

"There's her address the Gainsborough Studios. Drop me at Mouquin's and
I'll have the table set in one of the small rooms upstairs. I'll meet
you at the door."

Jim glanced at the address, put it in his pocket and helped her draw on
her heavy coat.

"You'll be nice to Jane? I want her to like you. She's the only real
friend I've ever had in New York."

"I'll do my best for you, little girl," he promised.

He dropped her at the wooden cottage-front on Sixth Avenue near
Twenty-eighth Street, and returned in twenty minutes with Jane.

As the tall artist led the way upstairs, Jim whispered:

"Say, for God's sake, let me out of this!"

"Why?"

"She's a frost. If I have to sit beside her an hour I'll catch cold and
die. I swear it; save me! Save my life!"

"Sh! It's all right. She's fine and generous when you know her."

They had reached the door and Mary pushed him in. There was no help for
it. He'd have to make the most of it.

The dinner was a dismal failure.

Jane Anderson was polite and genial, but there was a straight look of
wonder in her clear gray eyes that froze the blood in Jim's veins.

Mary tried desperately for the first half-hour to put him at his
ease. It was useless. The attack of Ella had upset his nerves, and the
unexpressed hostility of Jane had completely crushed his spirits. He
tried to talk once, stammered and lapsed into a sullen silence from
which nothing could stir him.

The two girls at last began to discuss their own affairs and the dinner
ended in a sickening failure that depressed and angered Mary.

The agony over at last, she rose and turned to Jim:

"You can go now, sir--I'll take Jane home with me for a friendly chat."

"Thank God!" he whispered, grinning in spite o