"Oh, that's what scared you, is it? She didn't recognize you. Neither did I, till I got that second glimpse of you with your hat and jacket on. But even if she had--ho! ho! ho! I say; do you know, you couldn't convince the Bishop and Henrietta, if you'd talk till doomsday, that that red coat and hat we advertised weren't taken by a little girl that was daffy. Fact; I swear it! They admit you took the coat, you little witch, but it was when you were out of your mind--of course--of course! 'The very fact that she left the coat behind her and took nothing else from the house shows a mind diseased,' insisted Henrietta. Of course--of course! 'And her coming for no reason at all to your house,' adds the Bishop.... Say, what was the reason?" Maggie, I'll tell you a hard thing: it isn't when people think worse of you than you are, but better, that you feel most uncomfortable. I got pale and sick inside of me at the thought of my poor little Bishop. I loved him for believing me straight and-- "I've been dying of curiosity to know what was in your wise little head that day," he went on. "Oh, it was wise all right; that wink you gave me was perfectly sane; there was method in that madness of yours." "I will tell you, Mr. Ramsay," I said sweetly, "at supper." "Supper!" "Yes, the supper you're going to get for me." His bellowing laughter filled the place. Maggie, our little flat and our few things don't go well with sounds like that. "Oh, you're all alike, you women!" he roared. "All right, supper it is. Where shall we go--Rector's?" I pouted. "It's so much more cozy right here," I said. "I'll telephone. There's Brophy's, just round the corner, and they send in the loveliest things." "Oh, they do! Well, tell 'em to begin sending." I thought he'd follow me out in the hall to the 'phone, but he was having some trouble in pulling out his purse--to count out his money, I suppose. I got Central and asked for the number. Oh, yes, I knew it all right; I had called up that same number once, already, to-day. Brophy's? Why, Maggie Monahan, you ought to know there's no Brophy's. At least none that I ever heard about. With my hand over the mouthpiece, so that nobody heard but Edward, I ordered a supper fit for a king--or a chorus girl! What didn't I order! Champagne, broiled lobster, crab meat, stuffed pimentoes, kirschkaffee--everything I'd ever heard Beryl Blackburn tell about. "Say, say," interrupted Edward, coming out after me. "That's enough of that stuff. Tell him to send in a Scotch and soda and--what--" For at that moment the connection was made and I cut in sweetly with: "Mrs. Edward Ramsay?--just a minute." Mag, you should have seen the man's face! It was red, it was white; it was furious, it was frightened.