ran away.

That Sunday morning meeting with Miss Bentley had been reviewed by the
Candy Man from every possible standpoint, and always, in conclusion,
with the same questions. Could he have done otherwise? What would she
think when she discovered her mistake? Who was his unknown double?

The opportunity offering, he made some guarded inquiries of the
Reporter.

"Bentley?" repeated that gentleman, as he sharpened a bright yellow
pencil. "Seem to have heard the name somewhere recently."

It was a matter of no particular importance to the Candy Man. He had
chanced to hear the name given to the conductor by the young lady who
was thrown down the night of the accident, and wondered----

The Reporter, who wasn't listening, here exclaimed: "I have it! It was
this A.M. Maimie McHugh was interviewing Mrs. Gerrard Pennington over
the office 'phone in regard to a luncheon she is giving this week in
honour of her niece. Said niece's name me-thinks was Bentley. You will
see it all in the social notes later. Covers for twelve, decorations in
pink, La France roses, place cards from somewhere." He paused to laugh.
"Maimie was doing it up brown, but she lacks tact. What does she do but
ask for Miss Bentley's picture for the Saturday edition! I tried to stop
her, but it was too late. You should have heard the 'phone buzz. 'My
niece's picture in the _Evening Record_!' 'I don't care, mean old
thing,' says Maimie, when she hung up. 'Nicer people than she is do it,
and are glad to. 'That's all right, my honey,' I told her, 'but there
are nice people and nice people, and it's up to you to know the variety
you are dealing with, unless you like to be snubbed.' Still," the
Reporter added reflectively, "Mrs. Gerrard Pennington and little McHugh
can't afford to quarrel. After the luncheon Mrs. G.P. will probably send
Maimie a pair of long white gloves, and when their pristine freshness
has departed, Maimie will wear them to the office a time or two."

The Candy Man wished to know who Mrs. Gerrard Pennington was, anyway.

"She, my ignorant friend, is a four-ply Colonial Dame, so to speak.
Distinguished grandfathers to burn, and the dough to support them,
unlike another friend of mine who possessed every qualification needed
to become a C.D. except on the clothes line."

"The joke," observed the Candy Man, "is old, but worth repeating. But did
I understand you to say _another_ friend? And am I to infer----?"

"You are far too keen for a Can