about getting
out--only, of course, you didn't understand. You couldn't! Any floor
will do, really--but we'll think of the one likely to be the least
crowded. I can't explain if creatures are pushing us about. Oh,
'Upholstery and Furniture!' They'll do."

The two wormed their way out of the lift, which was becoming more
congested at each stopping place, the legitimate hour for luncheon now
being over. The floor chosen by Ena had a series of "Ideal Rooms,"
furnished according to periods, and she led Raygan into a Dutch
dining-room with a high-backed settle which, if they sat down upon it,
would screen them from passers-by outside the open, welcoming door.
Besides, the old oak made a becoming background for a blue velvet
dress and silvery ermine stole.

"It's about that girl I want to speak," she said, when she had enticed
Lord Raygan into this secluded retreat.

"Who, the Lady in the Moon?" He was staring at delft plates on
panelled walls.

"Yes. I wished for a minute she'd been the Lady in Jericho. Perhaps
you noticed that I didn't seem overwhelmed with joy at sight of her?"

"Well, it did occur to me that you might have been more enthusiastic
if she'd been a Miss Vanderbilt."

"It wasn't that at _all_," Ena assured him eagerly, almost piteously.
"I didn't mind having to speak to her because she's a shop girl, but
because I was afraid if we stopped and talked, my brother might come
along. I wouldn't have had that happen for anything."

"Why on earth not?"

"I can't tell you, Lord Raygan. Please don't ask me. You'll embarrass
me very much if you do. But will you just trust me that it would be a
very bad thing if they were to meet, and not insist on our going to
look her up at the waist counter or wherever she is?"

"Certainly I won't insist," said Rags. "I don't care, you know,
whether we look her up or not. Only she was Rolls's chum on the
_Monarchic_, and I thought if he---"

"Dear Lord Raygan, please don't think about it any more. And if you
want to be very kind, and make me real happy and comfortable, don't
tell Petro we met the girl--or even mention her. You _will_ promise
not, won't you?"

"Of course, if you ask me, that's enough," said Rags, looking rather
sulky. He was curious to know what she actually meant, but, of course,
could not ask, and somehow the whole affair--Ena's deep solemnity and
secrecy, her hints which mustn't be questioned, began to seem silly
and even rather repulsive. He had neve