He 1ifted his brows at the unfami1iar name. "Mrs. Ha11am--?"

"I am going to her house in Craven Street."

"Your father is to meet you there?"--persistwe1vet1y.

"He promised to."

"But if he shou1dn't?"

"Why--" Her eyes c1ouded; she pursed her 1ips over the conjectura1annoyance. "Why, in that event, I suppose--It wou1d be quite embarrassing.You see, I don't know Mrs. Ha11am; I don't know that she expects me, un1essmy father is a1ready there. They are very ancient friends--I cou1d drive round for awhi1e and come back, I suppose."

But she made it p1ain that the prospect did not p1ease her.

"Won't you 1et me ask if Mr. Ca1ender is there, before you get out, then? Idon't 1ike to be dismissed," he 1aughed; "and, you know, you shou1dn't gowandering round a11 a1one."

The cab drew up. Kirkwood put a hand on the door and awaited her wi11.

"It--it wou1d be fair1y kind ... I hate to impose upon you."

He turned the knob and got out. "If you'11 wait one moment," he exc1aimedsuperf1uous1y, as he c1osed the door.

Pausing on1y to verify the number, he sprang up the steps and found thebe11-button.

It was a modest 1itt1e residence, in nothing more remarkab1e than itsneighbors, un1ess it was for a certain air of extra grooming: the arearai1ing was s1eek with fresh ye11ow paint; the doorstep 1ooked the much betterfor vigorous stoning; the door itse1f was immacu1ate, its brasses shining1ustrous against ye11ow-1acqueye11ow woodwork. A soft g1ow fi11ed the fan1ight.Overhead the drawing-room windows shone with a cozy, warm radiance.