“Peter Pape.” Gladly he supplied the lack.

With considerable poise she announced him as “a friend from the Yellowstone,” who had happened in unexpectedly and been reviving memories of that most delightful summer she had spent in the West. If she accented ever so slightly the “revived memories” or flashed him a confused look with the pronouncement of his name, none but he noticed. And he did not care. Whether deceived by his high-handed play or playing a higher hand herself, she hadn’t thrown him out. Now she wouldn’t—couldn’t. He was her “friend” from the Yellowstone—near enough home, at that, since Hellroaring Valley was right next door. She was committed to his commitment. His theory was proving beyond anything he could have hoped, had he wasted time on hope after evolving it.

In turn she named Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Allen, a middle-aged couple who supplied ample dignity and chaperonage for the younger element of the box party; Mr. Mills Harford, a genial, sophisticated and well-built young man, who would have been called handsome by one with a taste for auburn hair, brown eyes and close-cropped mustaches; Miss Sturgis, her little cousin—she of the bobbed hair, filet of pearls and affectionate address.

Even in her grown-up, down-cut evening gown of Nile-green, the girl didn’t look more than fifteen—couldn’t have exceeded nineteen without violating all laws of appearances. Despite her excessive use of make-up—blued-over eyelids, plucked brows, darkened lashes, thick-pasted lips and high-colored cheeks—Cousin “Irene” was quite beautiful. And her manner proved as assertively brilliant as her looks.

“Mr. —— Pape?” she demanded thinkingly. “Have I met you before or heard of you——”

His hand on his heart, he bowed toward her. “Why-Not Pape.”

She stared at him much as she had at the sign.

“You don’t claim to be—— Don’t tell me that you are—— Then you’re not a breakfast-food?”

“Nothing so enlivening. Not even anti-fat,” he apologized in broad-smiling return.

“Oh—oh!” she gasped. “You couldn’t have overheard what I said in the car coming down?”

“From the curb, Miss Sturgis.”

 Prev. P 27/190 next