ose gray eyes
when they lift to me. Never! Take Denny, Violet, and the Lord help him;
I can't. You've bought me. Washing her hair in the Y. W. C. A.! God
bless that institution and--"

At last Mr. Godfrey Vandeford slept.

After his ten o'clock awakening Mr. Vandeford displayed a marked
eccentricity in his demeanor. That morning was unlike any morning he had
ever experienced, and his conduct surprised himself. A daybreak shower
had fallen on the hot and baked city, and it was as fresh as a suburb.
Arrayed in the coolest of white silk, linen, and suede, Mr. Vandeford
had his chauffeur drive him not to the whirling office but to the most
sophisticated Fifth Avenue florist, where he purchased the most
unsophisticated bunch of flowers at the highest price to be obtained in
New York.

"The Young Women's Christian Association," he commanded the obsequious
young Valentine who drove the big Chambers. Mr. Vandeford was never
sufficiently unoccupied of mind to pilot a car in and out of New York
traffic. For half a second the young Frenchman hesitated.

"I don't know where it is--Find out," commanded Mr. Vandeford, and again
he had the foreign experience of feeling the blood burn the under side
of the tan on his cheeks.

Valentine consulted the tall man in uniform at the door of the flower
shop, and this menial consulted some one within, who must have consulted
a directory, judging from the time it took to obtain the correct
address. With his eyes straight in front of him, as a chauffeur's eyes
should always be, he then drove rapidly down the avenue.

And on that beautiful morning Mr. Vandeford's luck was with him.
Valentine whirled expertly up to the curb in front of the large,
hospitable building which had emblazoned over its door the impressive Y.
W. C. A. letters, letters that send a beacon all over the known world as
they did to Mr. Vandeford in little and unimportant New York. Mr.
Vandeford got out of the car with hurried grace in his long limbs and,
with actual trepidation, went in through the door, into a world he had
never even thought of before. He had entered many an African lion jungle
with less fear. He glanced with awe at the natty young woman in white
linen who presided at the desk, and wanted intensely to put his flowers
behind him and back out of the door rather than approach and ask for the
lady to whom he wished to donate them. In fact, he might have
accomplished such a retreat if again luck had not come