paused to apologize, to the officer's delight and her escort's irritation. And Peter Byrne watched and waited, a line of annoyance between his brows. The girl was ahead; that complicated things.
When she was within a dozen feet of the table he rose hastily, with a word of apology, and met the couple. It was adroitly done. He had taken the little Austrian's arm and led her by the table while he was still greeting her. He held her in conversation in his absurd German until they had reached the swinging doors, while her companion followed helplessly. And he bowed her out, protesting his undying admiration for her eyes, while the florid youth alternately raged behind him and stared back at Harmony, interested and unconscious behind her table.
The little Austrian was on the pavement when Byrne turned, unsmiling, to the other man.
“That won't do, you know, Stewart,” he said, grave but not unfriendly.
“The Kid wouldn't bite her.”
“We'll not argue about it.”
After a second's awkward pause Stewart smiled.
“Certainly not,” he agreed cheerfully. “That is up to you, of course. I didn't know. We're looking for you to-night.”
A sudden repulsion for the evening's engagement rose in Byrne, but the situation following his ungraciousness was delicate.
“I'll be round,” he said. “I have a lecture and I may be late, but I'll come.”
The “Kid” was not stupid. She moved off into the night, chin in air, angrily flushed.
“You saw!” she choked, when Stewart had overtaken her and slipped a hand through her arm. “He protects her from me! It is because of you. Before I knew you—”
“Before you knew me, little one,” he said cheerfully, “you were exactly what you are now.”
She paused on the curb and raised her voice.
“So! And what is that?”
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