Inn last night, and whom do you
suppose we saw there?" she demanded on one of the mornings after, over
her bowl of halved peaches.

"Mr. and Mrs. Devil?" he asked, with a sparkle breaking through the
frown with which he had instantly greeted her mention of that gay beach
resort.

"No; Miss Hawtry and Mr. Farraday. She wasn't nice to us at all, but Mr.
Height says she always treats him badly when they are rehearsing
together. I think Mr. Height is perfectly wonderful to her on the
stage. He's so gentle and kind; but then he's that in real life, isn't
he?"

"Is he?" growled Mr. Vandeford over his corn-flakes.

"Yes, and he's so just and fine in the way he speaks about everybody. He
told me how poor Miss Hawtry used to be and how you pushed her along
until she could buy that lovely house we passed, in which the Trevors
are staying while she is in town. It is hard on you, too, not to be out
there boarding with them and her instead of in this heat."

"Did Height say that I--I boarded--out there?" demanded Mr. Vandeford,
pushing his coffee-cup away from him with a sudden snap.

"Yes, he said you stayed out there in the summer always, and--"

"We're late," interrupted Mr. Vandeford, snapping his watch with the
same temper he had used on his coffee-cup. "Bring that saucer of peaches
along and eat it in the car."

"I'll take an orange instead," assented Miss Adair, as with all
good-nature and in all naturalness she deserted the last half of the
rosy peach, took an orange from the bowl before her and stood up to go
out to the car, which Valentine had parked in the shadow of the building
opposite.

"You kid, you!" scoffed Mr. Vandeford, with an ache in his heart, but
thanksgiving for that same youthful unsophistication. "Height or
somebody will get it all across to her, and then what'll I do?" he
growled to himself as he followed her into the car.

"And I saw that Mazie--Mazie woman there, too, with a terrible-looking
man that has written ever so many plays that are successful." Mr.
Vandeford was devoutly thankful that Mr. Grant Howard's name had not
stuck in the consciousness of the author of "The Purple Slipper." "I--I
was introduced to them too--because you know you said that I must--must
accept broad standards, and I did--last night." Miss Adair looked away,
but Mr. Vandeford could see that her little ears, set close against her
small head, with their tips covered by a smooth band of hair, grew rosy.

"What?" he