She seemed to pick up Ashton with her eyes as she glided by, for, finding himself unnoticed, he rose with a careless: "I think I'll go to breakfast," and followed Mrs. Whitcomb. The Wellingtons sat _dos-à-dos_ for some exciting seconds, and then on a sudden impulse, Mrs. Jimmie rose, knelt in the seat and spoke across the back of it: "It was very nice of you to defend me, Jimmie--er--James." Wellington almost dislocated several joints in rising quickly and whirling round at the cordiality of her tone. But his smile vanished at her last word. He protested, feebly: "James sounds so like a--a butler. Can't you call me Little Jimmie again?" Mrs. Wellington smiled indulgently: "Well, since it's the last time. Good-bye, Little Jimmie." And she put out her hand. He seized it hungrily and clung to it: "Good-bye?--aren't you getting off at Reno?" "Yes, but----" "So am I--Lucretia." "But we can't afford to be seen together." Still holding her hand, he temporized: "We've got to stay married for six months at least--while we establish a residence. Couldn't we--er--couldn't we establish a residence--er--together?" Mrs. Wellington's eyes grew a little sad, as she answered: "It would be too lonesome waiting for you to roll home." Jimmie stared at her. He felt the regret in her voice and took strange courage from it. He hauled from his pocket his huge flask, and said quickly: "Well, if you're jealous of this, I'll promise to cork it up forever." She shook her head skeptically: "You couldn't." "Just to prove it," he said, "I'll chuck it out of the window." He flung up the sash and made ready to hurl his enemy into the flying landscape. "Bravo!" cried Mrs. Wellington. But even as his hand was about to let go, he tightened his clutch again, and pondered: "It seems a shame to waste it." "I thought so," said Mrs. Jimmie, drooping perceptibly. Her husband began to feel that, after all, she cared what became of him. "I'll tell you," he said, "I'll give it to old Doc Temple. He takes his straight." "Fine!" He turned towards the seat where the clergyman and his wife were sitting, oblivious of the drama of reconciliation playing so close at hand. Little Jimmie paused, caressed the flask, and kissed it. "Good-bye, old playmate!" Then, tossing his head with bravado, he reached out and touched the clergyman's shoulder. Dr. Temple turned and rose with a questioning look. Wellington put the flask in his hand and chuckled: "Merry Christmas!" "But, my good man----" the preacher objected, finding in his hand a donation about as welcome and as wieldy as a strange baby. Wellington winked: "It may come in handy for--your patients." And now, struck with a sudden idea, Mrs. Wellington spoke: "Oh, Mrs. Temple." "Yes, my dear," said the little old lady, rising. Mrs. Wellington placed in her hand a small portfolio and laughed: "Happy New Year!" Mrs. Temple stared at her gift and gasped: "Great heavens! Your cigars!"