dining-room.

"It's awfully kind of you," he said, heartily, as he seated himself
opposite his host; "as a matter of fact I'm half famished."

He made a breakfast which bore ample witness to the truth of his
statement; a meal with long intervals of conversation. To Hartley, who
usually breakfasted in a quarter of an hour, and was anxious to
start for the office, it became tedious in the extreme, and his eyes
repeatedly sought the clock. He almost sighed with relief as the visitor
took the last piece of toast in the rack, only to be plunged again into
depression as his daughter rang the bell for more. Unable to endure it
any longer he rose and, murmuring something about getting ready, quitted
the room.

"I'm afraid I'm delaying things," remarked Mr. Vyner, looking after him
apologetically.

Miss Hartley said, "Not at all," and, as a mere piece of convention,
considering that he had already had four cups, offered him some more
coffee. To her surprise he at once passed his cup up. She looked at the
coffee-pot and for a moment thought enviously of the widow's cruse.

"Only a little, please," he said. "I want it for a toast."

"A toast?" said the girl.

Mr. Vyner nodded mysteriously. "It is a solemn duty," he said,
impressively, "and I want you to drink it with me. Are you ready?
'Bassett, the best of boys!'"

[Illustration: To Bassett, the best of boys 106]

Joan Hartley, looking rather puzzled, laughed, and put the cup to her
lips. Robert Vyner put his cup down and regarded her intently.

"Do you know why we drank his health?" he inquired.

"No."

"Because," said Robert, pausing for a moment to steady his voice,
"because, if it hadn't been for his officiousness, I should not be
sitting here with you."

He leaned toward her. "Do you wish that you had not drunk it?" he asked.

Joan Hartley raised her eyes and looked at him so gravely that the
mischief, with which he was trying to disguise his nervousness, died out
of his face and left it as serious as her own. For a moment her eyes,
clear and truthful, met his.

"No," she said, in a low voice.

And at that moment Rosa burst into the room with two pieces of scorched
bread and placed them upon the table. Unasked, she proffered evidence on
her own behalf, and with great relish divided the blame between the coal
merchant, the baker, and the stove. Mr. Hartley entered the room before
she had done herself full justice, and Vyner, obeying a glance from
Joan, r