She blushed furiously at sight of the committee waiting to greet her, but they repented their criticisms and tried to make up for them by the excessive warmth with which they all exclaimed at once: "Good morning, Mrs. Lathrop!" "Good morning, who?" said Anne, then blushed yet redder: "Oh, I can't seem to get used to that name! I hope I haven't kept you waiting?" "Oh, not at all!" the women insisted, and Anne fled to number Six, remembered that this was no longer her home, and moved on to number One. Here the porter was just finishing his restoring tasks, and laying aside with some diffidence two garments which Anne hastily stuffed into her own valise. Meanwhile Marjorie was pushing Mrs. Wellington ahead: "You go in first, Mrs. Wellington." "You go first. I have no husband waiting for me," said Mrs. Wellington. "Oh, I insist," said Marjorie. "I couldn't think of it," persisted Mrs. Wellington. "I won't allow you." And then Mrs. Whitcomb pushed them both aside: "Pardon me, won't you? I'm getting off at Reno." "So am I," gasped Mrs. Wellington, rushing forward, only to be faced by the slam of the door and the click of the key. She whirled back to demand of Marjorie: "Did you ever hear of such impudence?" "I never did." "I'll never be ready for Reno," Mrs. Wellington wailed, "and I haven't had my breakfast." "You'd better order it in advance," said Marjorie. "It takes that chef an hour to boil an egg three minutes." "I will, if I can ever get my face washed," sighed Mrs. Wellington. And now Mrs. Anne Lathrop, after much hesitation, called timidly: "Porter--porter--please!" "Yes--miss--missus!" he amended. "Will you call my--" she gulped--"my husband?" "Yes, ma'am," the porter chuckled, and putting his grinning head in at the men's door, he bowed to Ira and said: "Excuse me, but you are sent for by the lady in number One." Ashton slapped him on the back and roared: "Oh, you married man!" "Well," said Ira, in self-defence, "I don't hear anybody sending for you." Wedgewood grinned at Ashton. "I rather fancy he had you theah, old top, eh, what?" Ira appeared at number One, and bending over his treasure-trove, spoke in a voice that was pure saccharine: "Are you ready for breakfast, dear?" "Yes, Ira." "Come along to the dining-car." "It's cosier here," she said. "Couldn't we have it served here?" "But it'll get all cold, and I'm hungry," pouted the old bachelor, to whom breakfast was a sacred institution. "All right, Ira," said Anne, glad to be meek; "come along," and she rose. Ira hesitated. "Still, if you'd rather, we'll eat here." He sat down. "Oh, not at all," said Anne; "we'll go where you want to go." "But I want to do what you want to do." "So do I--we'll go," said Anne. "We'll stay." "No, I insist on the dining-car."