Complacent, and at the same time excited beneath a placid demeanour, she greeted him with a cool little nod. He grinned broadly but nervously. "I was wondering if you wouldn't happen along soon...." "Is that so?" Joan returned blandly. "Mind my walking with you?" "No-o," the girl drawled. "Of course, if I'm in the way--" "Oh, no--I'm just looking for some place to lunch." "Well, I'm hungry myself. Why not let me set up the eats?" "All right," she assented indifferently. "Fine! Where'll we go?" "Oh, I don't know...." "Anywheres you say." "Well, Rector's is right handy." "That suits me," Quard affirmed promptly. But Joan's sidelong glance discovered a look of some discomfiture. "I guess you got my letter, all right?" he pursued as they crossed to the sidewalk of the New York Theatre Building. "Oh, yes," Joan replied evenly, after a brief pause. "Wha'd you think of the piece?" "Oh ... the sketch! Why, it seems very interesting. Of course," Joan added in a tone of depreciation, "I didn't have much time--just glanced through it, you know--" "I felt pretty sure you'd like it!" "Oh, yes; I thought it _quite_ interesting," said the girl patronizingly. She seemed unconscious of his quick, questioning glance, and Quard withdrew temporarily into suspicious, baffled silence. In the pause they crossed Forty-fourth Street and entered the restaurant. It was rather crowded at that hour, but by good chance they found a table for two by one of the windows; where a heavily-mannered captain of waiters, probably thinking he recognized her, held a chair for Joan and bowed her into it with an empressement that secretly delighted the girl and lent the last effect to Quard's discomfiture. "Please," she said gravely as the actor, with the captain suave but vigilant at his elbow, knitted expressive eyebrows over the menu--"please order something very simple. I hardly _ever_ have much appetite so soon after breakfast." "I--ah--how about a cocktail?" Quard ventured, relief manifest in his smoothened brow. "I thought you--" "Oh, for you, I mean. Mine's ice'-tea." "I think," said Joan easily, "I would like a Bronx." And then, while Quard was distracted by the importance of his order, she removed her gloves and, with her hands in her lap hidden beneath the table, slipped off the ring and put it away in her wrist-bag: looking about the room the while with a boldness which she could by no means have mustered a month earlier, in such surroundings. Distrustful of her cocktail, when served, for all her impudence in naming it, she merely sipped a little and let it stand. The mystery of the change in her worked a trace of exasperation into Quard's humour. He eyed her narrowly, with misgivings. "I guess you ain't lost much sleep since we blew up," he hazarded abruptly. "What_ever_ do you mean?" drawled Joan. "You look and act's if you'd come into money since I saw you last." "Perhaps I have," she said with provoking reserve.