dy,
foolish-faced young man with the eyeglass, who had been grabbing pink
flowers off the table and therewith scufflingly decorating Million's
little dark head.

"Laughing and talking together all the time they was afterwards," said
the waiter, in his suspicious, weary voice. "I rec'lect the young
pers--the young lady, now. You called to wait for her, didn't you, Miss?
You and a fair gent. Last night. Then you left before she come away."

"When? When did she go?" I demanded quickly.

"About an hour after you did, I should say."

"And who with?" I asked again breathlessly. "Who was Miss Million with
when she left this place?"

"Ar!" said the waiter, "now you're arskin'!" He spoke more suspiciously
than ever. And he looked sharply at me, with such disfavour that I felt
quite guilty--though why, I don't know.

Of what should he suspect me? I am sure I looked nothing but what I was,
a superior lady's-maid, well turned out in all-black; rather pale from
my last night's vigil, and genuinely anxious because I could not find
out what had become of my mistress.

"Want to know a lot, some of you," said the waiter, quite unpleasantly
this time.

And he turned away. He left me, feeling snubbed to about six inches
shorter, standing, hesitating, on the red carpet of the corridor.

Horrid man!

The attendant came up.

"Miss! About that young lady of yours," he began, in a low, confidential
voice.

"Oh, yes? Yes? You remember her now? You'll tell me who she went away
with?" I said quite desperately. "Do tell me!"

"Well, I couldn't say for certain, of course; but--since Alfred there
was telling you she was talking a lot with that young Lord Fourcastles,
well! I see him go off in the small car, and there was a lady with him,"
the attendant told me. "That I did see. A young lady in some sort of a
wrap----"

"Yes, but what sort of a wrap?" I cried impatiently.

Oh, the incomprehensible blindness of the Masculine Eye! Woman dresses
to please it. She spends the third of her means, the half of her time,
and the whole of her thought on that object alone. And what is her
reward? Man--whether he's the restaurant attendant or the creature who's
taken her out to dinner--merely announces: "I really couldn't say what
sort of a wrap she had on."

"Was it a white one? At least you'll remember that?" I urged. I saw
before my mind's eye Million's restaurant coat of soft, creamy cloth,
with the mother-o'-pearl satin lining. How