A guest hailed her. “Felice” he called her in Londonish tone. Obviously he was an Englishman; you might put him down as a polo player off his pony and in morning attire. He had on one of those pearl-gray velours from “Scott’s,” hatters to H. M. the King, Piccadilly and Old Bond Street. A genuine, that was; no counterfeit. I knew a bit about hats. His cutaway and shoes were from Piccadilly, too--from tailor and booter to H. M. the King, also, or at least to H. R. H. the Prince of Wales. His manners were from the Mall. Apparently he was just arrived to meet Miss Wellington, having heard she’d dropped in from “The Springs.” But I knew him; he had been the mariner at the ball who’d impressed me as being too light to class as Columbus. He was Magellan. After he’d sent Felice up with the news he was here, he dallied before the elevators till Doris came down. She’d just left a mirror, evidently; smartness and style couldn’t commence to suggest her. She was a stunner. “George” she called him; and he called her “Doris”; and he led her into the main dining room for luncheon, taking a table at a window directly over the Avenue. I sat down alone a few tables away. It was nearly twelve; and they went at luncheon lightly,--cold lobster, mainly. I took the same and, to that extent, mingled. I didn’t like George; not at all. I liked him even less than Magellan. He had a proprietorish way with him which was more irritating now that he was sober and out of costume. She didn’t exactly play up to him; she was polite, registering interest in what he said, watching the parade of motor cars and pedestrians below their window. Have I said it was a clear, chilly, pleasant winter day? They never even so much as glanced idly toward the door through which Cantrell and his government men might come. They seemed to think nothing of that at all, and if either of them gave me a thought, neither showed it. I heard Doris, in her clear, quick, amused voice, telling to George how she had discovered a counterfeit twenty in her change at Caldon’s. They finished and George paid the check. I finished and followed them into the lobby in time to see Felice meeting Miss Wellington with a receipted bill for their accommodations. Appeared also handbags and a couple of small semi-trunks, semi suit cases of the “week-end box” variety. Porters piled the luggage in front of a taxi. It became evident that George, having joined the party, was going right along. He got into the taxi after Doris and Felice. “Century” he said to the driver. The taxis are thick about the Blackstone just before train-time for the Century to New York. I got a man without the least difficulty. “Century, sir?” he said. “If that car goes there,” I told him. “If it doesn’t, follow it.” XIII AND LEARN THE SOOTHING EFFECTS OF FOND DU LAC TWINS.