n I'm going to May Henderson's for luncheon."

Bertram sighed impatiently and opened his lips--only to close them with
the words unsaid. There was nothing he could do, and he had already said
too much, he thought, with a savage glance at the man ahead who still
had enough of his paper left to serve for a pretence at reading. As
Bertram could see, however, the man was not reading a word--he was too
acutely conscious of the handsome young woman in the long sealskin
coat behind him. Billy was already the cynosure of dozens of eyes, and
Bertram knew that his own arrival on the scene had not lessened the
interest of the owners of those eyes. He only hoped devoutly that no
one in the line knew him ar Billy, and that no one quite knew what had
happened. He did not wish to see himself and his fiancee the subject
of inch-high headlines in some evening paper figuring as:

"Talented young composer and her famous artist lover take poor girl's
place in a twenty-five-cent ticket line."

He shivered at the thought.

"Are you cold?" worried Billy. "If you are, don't stand here, please!"

He shook his head silently. His eyes were searching the street for the
only one whose coming could bring him relief.

It must have been but a coffee-and-sandwich luncheon for the girl, for
soon she came. The man surmised that it was she, as soon as he saw her,
and stepped back at once. He had no wish for introductions. A moment
later the girl was in Billy's place, and Billy herself was at his side.

"That was Alice Greggory, Bertram," she told him, as they walked on
swiftly; "and Bertram, she was actually almost _crying_ when she took my
place."

"Humph! Well, I should think she'd better be," growled Bertram,
perversely.

"Pooh! It didn't hurt me any, dearie," laughed Billy with a conciliatory
pat on his arm as they turned down the street upon which her friend
lived. "And now can you come in and see May a minute?"

"I'm afraid not," regretted Bertram. "I wish I could, but I'm busier
than busy to-day--and I was _supposed_ to be already late when I saw
you. Jove, Billy, I just couldn't believe my eyes!"

"You looked it," twinkled Billy. "It was worth a farm just to see your
face!"

"I'd want the farm--if I was going through that again," retorted the
man, grimly--Bertram was still seeing that newspaper heading.

But Billy only laughed again.

CHAPTER XX. ARKWRIGHT TELLS A STORY

Arkwright called Monday afternoon by appointment; a