Mr. Gilfeather came close and spoke low. "It's these palms and ferns. I got 'em this morning. Might I ask your opinion of 'em?" "Surely, they're very nice and attractive," said Sally doubtfully. He remarked the doubt. "You don't really think that. Now, do you? Wouldn't real ones be more--more high-toned, as you might say? I was advised that--paper flowers, he called 'em--weren't in keeping. Would you advise me to take 'em out and put in real ones?" "Oh," Sally answered quickly, "I can't advise you about that. Real ones would be more expensive to keep in order, but they would be better. Don't you think so yourself?" Mr. Gilfeather sighed. "These'll have to come out," he said sadly. "They'll have to come out, I guess. It's hard luck that I didn't think of asking before I got 'em. But I'm much obliged to you, Miss Ladue." Sally nodded again and went out. The door had hardly shut behind her when the man who had been sipping his ale and reading his paper emerged from his corner hastily and put out after her. It was Eugene Spencer. CHAPTER XXIII It was almost time for the theatres to be out. Indeed, the first few men were coming out of one, hurriedly putting on their coats as they came. As the doors swung open the beginnings of the subdued roar of a slowly moving crowd came out. A man and a girl who were walking briskly past heard it. "Hurry, Jane!" exclaimed the girl anxiously. "I didn't know it was so late." Jane muttered something about crowds, but it was nothing very articulate. To tell the truth, Jane was nervous and he did not know just what he was saying. Neither did Sally. She did not listen, for that matter, for she was wholly occupied with her errand. They quickened their pace until they were almost running, and the noise was gradually left behind. Neither of them spoke; and when they had turned the first corner they both sighed and the pace slackened to that brisk walk again. Sally had not had to overcome her repugnance to asking Everett, and Mr. Gilfeather's feeling of triumph was a little premature. When Jane had overtaken her, a few steps from Mr. Gilfeather's door and had asked whether he could not help her, she had yielded to her impulse and had answered that he probably could if he would. And Jane had confessed, getting a little red,--who would not have got a little red, having to make such a confession to the girl he was in love with, even yet?--he had confessed that he was qualified sufficiently for the expedition, for he had been in number seven on two occasions, on the first of which he had played. But, he added, he had not lost much--fortunately for him, perhaps, he had not won--and he had had no desire to play again, although he had felt some curiosity to see others do it. It was worth while, for once, to see that side of human nature. Sally began to tell him why she wanted to go, but he stopped her.