ile he felt in
his pocket for a pencil. "Of course I recognized young Morganstein;
everybody knows him and that chocolate car; he's been run in so often for
speeding about town. And I suppose he was touring through Snoqualmie Pass
to the races at North Yakima fair. There should be some horses there worth
going to see."

"We meant to spend a day or two at the fair," she admitted, "but we
expected to motor on, exploring a little in the neighborhood."

"I see. Up the valley to have a look at the big irrigation dam the
Government is putting in and maybe on to see the great Tieton bore. That
would have been a fine trip; sorry you missed it." Daniels paused to place
several dots and hooks on his page. "I recognized Miss Morganstein, too,"
he went on, "though she was too busy to notice me. I met her when I was
taking my course in journalism at the State University; danced with her at
the Junior Prom. And the other lady, whose wrist was sprained, must have
been her sister, Mrs. Feversham. I was detailed to interview the new
Alaska delegate when he passed through Seattle, and I understood his wife
was to join him later. She was stopping over for a visit, and the society
editor called my attention to a mighty good picture of her in last
Sunday's issue. Do you know?--" he paused, looking into the girl's face
with a curious scrutiny, "there was another fine reproduction on that page
that you might have posed for. The lady served tea or punch or did
something at the same affair. But I can't remember her name--I've tried
ever since we left that station--though seems to me it was a married one."

"I remember the picture you mean; I remember. And I was there. It was a
bridge-luncheon at the Country Club in honor of Mrs. Feversham. And she--
the lady you were reminded of--won the prize. So you think I resemble that
photograph?" She tipped her head back a little, holding his glance with
her half-veiled eyes. "What an imagination!"

"Of course if you did pose for that picture, it doesn't do you half
justice; I admit that. But"--regarding her with a wavering doubt--"I guess
I've been jumping at conclusions again. They call me the 'Novelist' at the
office." He paused, laughing off a momentary embarrassment. "That's why I
didn't want to depend on getting your name from the society editor."

"I am glad you did not. It would have been very annoying, I'm sure--to the
lady. I suppose," she went on slowly, while the glamour grew in her eyes,