ms to care to do, for I like to see a woman well
trigged out."

"Tom, I have a message for you," said Vanderlyn slowly, "a lady
telephoned just now to say she's expecting you at five o'clock."

"Eh! what?" said Pargeter, his fair face flushing, "a lady? What lady?
Did she give her name?"

"Mademoiselle de la Tour de Nesle," said Vanderlyn, with curling lip.

"Oh Lord! What a plague women are!" said the other, crossly. "Sometimes
I think it's a pity God ever made Eve! Such impudence, her ringing up
here! Still, she's an amusing little devil."

"Are you going to see her?" asked Vanderlyn, "because if so I think I
had better be getting back to my place. You see, I've rather neglected
my work to-day."

Something in the other's tone impressed Pargeter disagreeably.

"I say, don't be shirty!" he exclaimed, "I know you've had a lot of
bother, and I'm awfully grateful to you, and so will Peggy be when she
knows. I sha'n't make up my mind about going to see Nelly till the last
minute----"

"Nelly?" repeated Vanderlyn, puzzled--"Who's Nelly?"

"You know, Grid,--the--the person who rang me up. I always call her
Nelly. Her name's such a mouthful--still, it's Nelly's Tower, isn't it?
See? Perhaps to-day as there's all this fuss on I'd better not go and
see her, eh, Grid? I wish I was like you," he added, a little
shamefacedly, "you're such a puritan. I suppose that's why Peggy's so
fond of you. Birds of a feather, eh? what?" his manner grew sensibly
more affectionate and confidential.

The two men smoked on in silence. Vanderlyn was trying to choose a form
of words with which he could bid the other farewell; he longed with a
miserable longing to be alone, but that first day's ordeal was not yet
over.

"I can't face dinner here," said Pargeter suddenly, "let's go and dine
at that new place, the Coq d'Or."

Vanderlyn lacked the energy to say him nay, and they went out, leaving
word where they were to be found.

Le Coq d'Or was a reconstitution of what had been, in a now deserted
suburban resort, a famous restaurant dedicated to the memory and cult of
Rabelais. Vanderlyn had already been there with American friends, but to
Pargeter the big room, with its quaint mediaeval furnishings and large
panels embodying adventures of Gargantua, was new, and for a moment
distracted his mind from what was still more of a grievance than an
anxiety.

But they had not long been seated at one of the narrow oak tables which
were suppo