d an apartment."

"Well, she's dazzling."

Leila flamed. "I don't see how you can like--her kind----"

"Little lady," he admonished, "you're jealous. I danced four dances
with her, and only one with your new pink slippers."

She stuck out a small foot. "They're lovely, Barry," she said,
repentantly, "and I haven't thanked you."

"Why should you? Just look pleasant, please. I've had enough scolding
for one day."

"Who scolded?"

"Mary."

Leila glanced into the dining-room, where, in her slim fairness, Mary
was like a pale lily, among all the tulip women, and poppy women, and
orchid women, and night-shade women of the social garden.

"If Mary scolded you, you deserved it," she said, loyally.

"You too? Leila, if you don't stick to me, I might as well give up."

His face was moody, brooding. She forgot the Delilah-dancer of the
afternoon, forgot everything except that this wonderful man-creature
was in trouble.

"Barry," she said, simply, like a child, "I'll stick to you until
I--die."

He looked down into the adoring eyes. "I believe you would, Leila," he
said, with a boyish catch in his voice; "you're the dearest thing on
God's great earth!"

The chilled fruit was already on the table when they went in, and it
was followed by a chafing dish over which the General presided.
Red-faced and rapturous, he seasoned and stirred, and as the result of
his wizardry there was placed before them presently such plates of
Creole crab as could not be equaled north of New Orleans.

"To cook," said the General, settling himself back in his chair and
beaming at Mary who was beside him, "one must be a poet--to me there is
more in that dish than merely something to eat. There's color--the red
of tomatoes, the green of the peppers, the pale ivory of mushrooms, the
snow white of the crab--there's atmosphere--aroma."

"The difference," Mary told him, smiling, "between your cooking and
Susan Jenks' is the difference between an epic--and a nursery rhyme.
They're both good, but Susan's is unpremeditated art."

"I take off my hat to Susan Jenks," said the General--"when her poetry
expresses itself in waffles and fried chicken."

Mary was devoting herself to the General. Porter Bigelow who was on
the other side of her, was devoting himself to Aunt Isabelle.

Aunt Isabelle was serenely content in her new office of chaperone.

"I can hear so much better in a crowd." she said, "and then there's so
much to see."

"