curious sense of self-importance. He now had
the privilege of announcing to his friends that he was in business in
New York--in the banking business--with Carter, Rand & Seagraves, as a
matter of fact. He walked with a freer stride and swung his stick with
a jauntier air than he had yesterday.

He was full of this when, a few minutes before dinner, Frances swept
down the stairs.

"I'm glad you could come, Don," she said. "But where in the world have
you been all day?"

"Downtown," he answered. "I'm with Carter, Rand & Seagraves now."

He made the announcement with considerable pride.

"Poor Don!" she murmured. "But, if you're going to do that sort of
thing, I suppose you might as well be with them as any one. I wonder
if that Seagraves is Dolly Seagraves's father."

For a second he was disappointed--he had expected more enthusiasm from
her.

"I haven't met the families of the firm yet," he answered.

"I thought you knew Dolly. I'll ask her up for my next afternoon, to
meet you."

"But I can't come in the afternoon, Frances."

"How stupid! You're to be downtown all day?"

"From nine to three or later."

"I'm not sure I'm going to like that."

"Then you'll have to speak to Farnsworth," he laughed.

"Farnsworth?"

"He's the manager."

"I imagine he's very disagreeable. Oh, Don, please hurry and make your
fortune and have it over with!"

"You ought to give me more than one day, anyhow."

"I'll give you till June," she smiled. "I really got sort of homesick
for you to-day, Don."

"Honest?"

"Honest, Don. I've no business to tell you such a secret, but it's
true."

"I'm glad you told me," he answered soberly. "What have you been doing
all day?"

"I had a stupid morning at the tailor's, and a stupid bridge in the
afternoon at the Martins'. Oh, I lost a disgraceful lot of money."

"How much?" he inquired.

She shook her head. "I won't tell; but that's why I told Dad he must
take me to see something cheerful this evening."

"Tough luck," he sympathized.

They went in to dinner. Afterward the Stuyvesant car took them all to
a vaudeville house, and there, from the rear of a box, Don watched
with indifferent interest the usual vaudeville turns. To tell the
truth, he would have been better satisfied to have sat at the piano at
home and had Frances sing to him. There were many things he had wished
to talk over with her. He had not told her about the other men he had
met, his adventure on his firs