those not worth speaking of," she replied.

She met his eyes steadily.

"Seagraves doesn't seem to feel that way. He keeps you in there all
the time now."

"The way he does his office desk," she nodded. "You'd better get your
lunch."

"I'll lose my chair."

"Oh, get your sandwich; I'll hold the chair for you," she answered
impatiently.

He rose immediately, and soon came back with his plate and coffee-cup.

"Do you know I haven't had one of these things or a chocolate eclair
since the last time I was in one of these places with you?"

"What _have_ you been eating?"

"Doughnuts and coffee, mostly."

"That isn't nearly so good for you," she declared.

He adjusted himself comfortably.

"This is like getting back home," he said.

"Home?"

She spoke the word with a frightened, cynical laugh.

"Well, it's more like home than eating alone at the other places," he
said.

"They are all alike," she returned--"just places in which to eat."

She said it with some point, but he did not see the point. He took a
bite of his egg sandwich.

"Honest, this tastes pretty good," he assured her.

He was eating with a relish and satisfaction that he had not known for
a long time. It was clear that the credit for this was due in some way
to Sarah Kendall Winthrop, though that was an equally curious
phenomenon. Except that he had, or assumed, the privilege of talking
to her, she was scarcely as intimate a feature of his life as Nora.

"How do you like your new work?" she inquired.

"It's fierce," he answered. "It's mostly arithmetic."

"It all helps," she said. "All you have to do now is just to keep at
it. Keeping posted on the bonds?"

"Yes. But as fast as I learn a new one, it's sold."

"That's all right," she answered. "The more you learn, the better.
Some day Mr. Farnsworth will call you in and turn you loose on your
friends."

"You think so?"

"I know it, if you keep going. But you can't let up--not for one
day."

"If I can only last through the summer," he reflected aloud. "Have you
ever spent a summer in town?"

"Where else would I spend a summer?" she inquired.

"I like the mountains myself. Ever been to Fabyan House?"

She looked to see if he was joking. He was not. He had spent the last
three summers very pleasantly in the White Mountains.

"No," she answered. "A ten-cent trolley trip is my limit."

"Where?"

"Anywhere I can find trees or water. You can get quite a trip right in
Central P