noyer dropped a piece of bread to the floor. "There! I'll have to go
shy one."

Wrinkles sat playing serenades on his guitar and staring with a frown at
the table, as if he was applying some strange method of clearing it of
its litter.

Florinda assaulted Great Grief. "Here, that's not the way to make
coffee!"

"What ain't?"

"Why, the way you're making it. You want to take----" She explained some
way to him which he couldn't understand.

"For heaven's sake, Wrinkles, tackle that table! Don't sit there like a
music box," said Pennoyer, grappling the eggs and starting for the gas
stove.

Later, as they sat around the board, Wrinkles said with satisfaction,
"Well, the coffee's good, anyhow."

"'Tis good," said Florinda, "but it isn't made right. I'll show you how,
Penny. You first----"

"Oh, dry up, Splutter," said Grief. "Here, take an egg."

"I don't like eggs," said Florinda.

"Take an egg," said the three hosts menacingly.

"I tell you I don't like eggs."

"Take--an--egg!" they said again.

"Oh, well," said Florinda, "I'll take one, then; but you needn't act
like such a set of dudes--and, oh, maybe you didn't have much lunch. I
had such a daisy lunch! Up at Pontiac's studio. He's got a lovely
studio."

The three looked to be oppressed. Grief said sullenly, "I saw some of
his things over in Stencil's gallery, and they're rotten."

"Yes--rotten," said Pennoyer.

"Rotten," said Grief.

"Oh, well," retorted Florinda, "if a man has a swell studio and
dresses--oh, sort of like a Willie, you know, you fellows sit here like
owls in a cave and say rotten--rotten--rotten. You're away off.
Pontiac's landscapes----"

"Landscapes be blowed! Put any of his work alongside of Billie Hawker's
and see how it looks."

"Oh, well, Billie Hawker's," said Florinda. "Oh, well."

At the mention of Hawker's name they had all turned to scan her face.

CHAPTER XX.

"He wrote that he was coming home this week," said Pennoyer.

"Did he?" asked Florinda indifferently.

"Yes. Aren't you glad?"

They were still watching her face.

"Yes, of course I'm glad. Why shouldn't I be glad?" cried the girl with
defiance.

They grinned.

"Oh, certainly. Billie Hawker is a good fellow, Splutter. You have a
particular right to be glad."

"You people make me tired," Florinda retorted. "Billie Hawker doesn't
give a rap about me, and he never tried to make out that he did."

"No," said Grief. "But that isn't saying