t he wants. See?"

"Yes, and I'm always glad when I do as you tell me," she whispered, with
her lips almost against his ear as they both turned back to the stage
and watched their machine begin to run on greased wheels. Mr. Vandeford
thought of the Beach Inn, Mazie, the bottle of champagne, and Mr. Gerald
Height, and groaned inwardly.

The last week of the rehearsals of "The Purple Slipper" was a hectic
rush, the like of which Miss Adair had never imagined. She had gone out
again for the week-end to Mrs. Farraday's, up in Westchester, and this
time Mr. Vandeford drove out on Sunday for tea and crape myrtle with Mr.
Dennis Farraday, and, he was surprised to note again, Miss Mildred
Lindsey. The day passed like an oasis in the midst of a desert storm,
and Mr. Vandeford had the pleasure of making all arrangements for Mrs.
Farraday, Mr. and Mrs. Van Tyne, and several other old Manhattaners, who
had fallen under the spell of the young Kentuckian who had in an off
moment perpetrated "The Purple Slipper," to go to Atlantic City the
following week to be upon the spot for the opening of the play. Suites
in the great new hotel were engaged by long-distance telephone,
time-tables discussed, and trains settled upon by the time tea was over
and the golden sun had let the twilight purple the rosy plumes of the
huge myrtle hedges. In the dusk Valentine brought Mr. Vandeford's car
from the garage and Mrs. Farraday's chauffeur drove out Mr. Dennis
Farraday's beloved Surreness. Miss Lindsey said her farewell, and it
again surprised Mr. Vandeford to see the gracious kiss Mrs. Farraday put
upon the dusky red of the beautiful Western girl's cheek, while good
Dennis stood smilingly by in the friendliest delight. Then a wistful
sigh from the talented young author by his side claimed his instant
attention.

"What is it?" he asked, with no attempt to control the tenderness in his
voice, though the dusk hid that in his eyes.

"I want to go back to town with you," she answered him, with a little
catch in her voice. "I feel so far away from you and--and IT, up here."

"You shall," he answered, and turned toward Mrs. Farraday, who was
coming across the grass towards them with a huge sheaf of myrtles for
his car flower-baskets in her arms. "I wonder if you'll let me take my
author back to town in a hurry to-night, Mater Farraday," he pleaded,
with the affectionate smile in both his voice and eyes that he had
learned to use in coaxing her since