ld speak.

To Sally it both feared and fascinated. Whenever he was not looking,
she could not take her eyes away. In the pictures in her mind, it
showed itself most often in ironic rage; yet he could look at her
with an expression that wooed the softest of thoughts in her heart.
Then she felt a slave, and would have given him the world, held in
her fingers, the gift would have seemed so small.

He looked up quickly from his plate--all motions of his head were
alert. "Why don't you begin your soup?" he asked.

She laughed quietly, and commenced at once with childlike obedience.

"Has Mr. Arthur said anything to you since?" he inquired presently.

For a short moment she hesitated--then she admitted it.

"When?"

"Monday evening."

"Oh--the day you had lunch with me."

"Yes."

"What did he say?"

Again she hesitated.

"What right have I to ask--eh?" he interrupted before she could frame
the words to reply. "Isn't that what you're sticking over? Of course
I've no right but interest. You brought me the interest, you
know--but I apologize for it all the same. Berthe!"

"Oui--Monsieur."

"Maquereaux grilles; and I want something to drink."

Berthe went to the bottom of the stairs, leaning on the third step
with her hand and calling up to the room above.

"Alexandre!"

"Why does she do that?" inquired Sally.

"She's calling for Alexandre, the waiter who runs out across the
street--obediently but slowly--with your pennies to buy your wine.
They don't have a license here."

Alexandre made his appearance with a big red cardboard cover in his
hand, which looked as if it held a copy of a weekly paper. This was
the wine list. Traill gripped it from him, giving the number almost
at the same moment.

Alexandre waited patiently for a moment, then deferentially
suggested that he should be given the money, having received which,
the little staircase swallowed up his tall, thin body again. It was
all like playing at keeping restaurant, only everything worked
without a hitch, which would never have happened if it had really
been only a game.

"I apologize," Traill repeated, when Alexandre had disappeared.

"But there's no need to," said Sally, quickly. "I think it's very
kind of you to take the interest that you do. And I suppose"--her
eyes roamed plaintively round the room, rather than at that moment
meet his; "I suppose I should have told you without your asking."

"Why?" he leaned a little forward.

"I d