bout Eleanor and his hand
clasping hers. Time and space ceased to exist for him and blessed
infinity set in. And then----

"Good gracious!" she cried, starting up. "Where are we? I'd forgotten all
about our cross-street."

As a matter of fact they were in Harlem.

All the way back Eleanor refused to be serious about anything. The
mischievous, contradictory, incalculable little devil that always lurked
in her took full possession. She teased Quin, and laughed at him, leading
him on one minute and running to cover the next.

When they reached the apartment, she tripped up the five flights as
lightly as a bird, and Quin, in his effort to keep up with her, overtaxed
himself and paid the penalty. Heart and lungs were behaving outrageously
when he reached the top landing, and he had to steady himself by the
banister.

"Oh, Quin, I ought to have remembered!" Eleanor cried, with what he
considered divine compassion. "I can't bear to hear you cough like that!
It sounds as if it were tearing you to pieces."

"It's nothing!" said Quin, struggling to get his breath. "I'll be all
right in a minute. What's the box by the door?"

Eleanor's glance followed his.

"If that old walrus, Pfingst, has dared to send me flowers again!" she
cried, pouncing on the card and holding it so they both could read it.

Penciled in small, even lines were the words:

Sorry to find the lady-bird flown. Will call up in the morning. H. P.

Even in the dimly lighted hall, Quin could see the flush that suffused
Eleanor's face.

"It's Harold Phipps," she said, trying to be casual. "I--I didn't know he
was in town."

Quin followed her into the apartment, and stood dully by the table as she
untied the box and lifted half a dozen exquisite white orchids from their
bed of maidenhair ferns. Then, trying very hard to keep his voice steady,
he asked gently:

"What does this mean, Miss Nell? I thought you weren't going to have
anything more to do with that man."

"Well, I haven't. That is, not--not until he came on last month to see
about the play."

"What play?"

"'Phantom Love.'"

"But why did you have to see him?"

"Because I am to be in the play."

"Not in _his_ play?"

"No more his than Papa Claude's."

Quin's face darkened.

"I saw him for only a few minutes," Eleanor went on, "and Papa Claude was
with us. I give you my word, Quin, I've never spoken to him alone, or
answered one of his letters."

"Then he has been writing to