e which, it seemed to her,
could be more minatory even than accusation.

XI

The little room was gaudily decorated and redolent with the lingering
odors of many dinners. Yet Louise, who had dined on the preceding
evening at the Ritz and been bored, whose taste in food and environment
was almost hypercritical, was perfectly happy. She found the cuisine and
the Chianti excellent.

"We are outstaying every one else," she declared; "and I don't even mind
their awful legacy of tobacco-smoke. Do you see that the waiter has
brought you the bill, Mr. Strangewey? Prepare for a shock. It is
fortunate that you are a millionaire!"

John laughed as he paid the bill and ludicrously overtipped the waiter.

"London must be a paradise to the poor man!" he exclaimed. "I have never
dined better."

"Don't overdo it," Sophy begged.

"I can only judge by results," John insisted. "I have dined, and I am
happy; therefore, the dinner must have been good."

"You are so convincing!" Sophy murmured. "There is such a finality about
your statements that I would not venture to dispute them. But remember
that your future entertainment is in the hands of two women, one of whom
is a deserving but struggling young artist without the means of
gratifying her expensive tastes. There are heaps of places we are going
to take you to which even Louise pretends she cannot afford. It is so
fortunate, Mr. Strangewey, that you are rich!"

"I believe you would be just as nice to me if I weren't," John ventured.

"I am so susceptible!" Sophy sighed, looking into her empty coffee-cup;
"much more susceptible than Louise."

"I won't have Mr. Strangewey spoiled," Louise put in. "And don't build
too much upon his being content with us as entertainers-in-chief.
Remember the halfpenny papers. In a few days he will be
interviewed--'Millionaire Farmer Come to London to Spend His Fortune.'
He will become famous. He will buy a green morocco engagement-book, and
perhaps employ a secretary. We shall probably have to ask ourselves to
luncheon three weeks ahead."

"I feel these things coming," John declared.

"My children," said Louise, rising, "we must remember that we are going
to the Palace. It is quite time we started."

They made their way down two flights of narrow stairs into the street.
The commissionnaire raised his whistle to his lips, but Louise stopped
him.

"We will walk," she suggested. "This way, Mr. Stran