uldn't own a car if I couldn't run it myself," he said. "I ran this
car all through France last fall. There ain't no fun bein' steered like
a mollycoddle."

"No one could ever accuse you of being a mollycoddle, Mr. Barker."

He turned and loosened the back of her seat until it reclined like a
Morris chair. "My own invention," he said; "to lie back and watch the
stars on a clear night sort of--of gives you a hunch what's goin' on up
there."

She looked at him in some surprise. "You're clever, all right," she
said, rather seriously.

"Wait till you know me better, kiddo. I'll learn you a whole lot about
me that'll surprise you."

His hand groped for hers; she drew it away gently, but her voice was
also gentle:

"Here we are home, Mr. Barker."

In front of her lower West Side rooming-house he helped her carefully to
alight, regarding her sententiously in the flare of the street lamp.

"You're my style, all right, kiddo. My speedometer registers you pretty
high."

She giggled.

"I'm here to tell you that you look good to me, and--and--I--anything on
fer to-morrow night?"

"No," she said, softly.

"Are you on?"

She nodded.

"I'll drop in and see you to-morrow," he said.

"Good," she replied.

"If nothin' unexpected comes up to-morrow night we'll take one swell
spin out along the Hudson Drive and have dinner at the Vista. There's
some swell scenery out along the Palisade drive when the moon comes up
and shines over the water."

"Oh, Mr. Barker, that will be heavenly!"

"I'm some on the soft-soap stuff myself," he said.

"You're full of surprises," she agreed.

"I'll drop in and see you to-morrow, kiddo."

"Good night," she whispered.

"Good night, little sis," he replied.

They parted with a final hand-shake; as she climbed up to her room she
heard the machine chug away.

The perfume of her rose floated about her like a delicate mist. She
undressed and went to bed into a dream-world of shimmering women and
hidden music, a world chiefly peopled by deferential waiters and
scraping lackeys. All the night through she sped in a silent
mahogany-colored touring-car, with the wind singing in her ears and
lights flashing past like meteors.

* * * * *

When Miss Gertrude arrived at the Knockerbeck parlors next morning a
little violet offering wrapped in white tissue-paper lay on her desk.
They were fresh wood violets, cool and damp with dew. She flushed and
placed th