A stir in the house—rather, a settling into silence—presaged the parting of the curtains on Act II. Mills Harford who, as had developed, was the host of the evening, began to rearrange the chairs to the better advantage of the fair of his party. The interloper felt the obligation at least of offering to depart. Irene it was who saved him. With a pout of the most piquantly bowed pair of lips upon which female ever had used unnecessary stick, she dared him to wish to watch the second act with her as much as she wished him to. Pape could not keep down the thrill she gave him—she and the situation. To think that he, so lately the wearer of an Indian sign, should be begged to stay in such a circle! Only for a moment did he affect reluctance. During it, he glanced across at the box that was his by right of rental, with its content of brightly attired “true-lovers” blooming above the rail; smiled into the challenge of the precocious child’s black eyes; sank into the chair just behind her. “Your friends over there look better able to do without you than I feel,” Irene ventured, with an over-shoulder sigh. “I don’t know who in the world they are, but——” “No more do I, Miss Sturgis.” “You don’t? You mean——” “Righto. Just met up with ’em in the lobby. They hadn’t any seats and I had more than I could use without exerting myself.” “How nice! Then they have only half as much right to you as I have. You see, I, as well as Miss Lauderdale, have met you before.” “Down Broadway, you mean, and although you didn’t know it?” She nodded back at him tenderly. “And although separated by circumstances—I in the car and you on the curb. From my cousin’s descriptions, I adore rangers. Don’t I, dar-rling?” “No one could doubt that, eh, Jane?” Harford made answer for Miss Lauderdale, whom he had relieved of her fan with as much solicitude as though each ostrich feather weighed a pound. “I do really. _Why not_?” Low and luringly Irene laughed. “You must look awfully picturesque in your uniform of forest green, your cavalry hat and laced boots.” “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m a cowman, not a ranger,” Pape thought advisable to state in a tone calculated to reach the ears of her responsible for his presence in their midst. “But most of the park service members are my friends. I live on the edge of the playground and know them right well.” The young girl refused to have her enthusiasm quashed. “Well, that’s just as good. You have their spirit without being tied to the stake of routine, as it were. I detest routine, don’t you? Or _do_ you? On second thought, you’re much better off. Don’t _you_ think he is, dar-rling?” In the dimming of the auditorium lights, she leaned closer to him; seemed to transfer the fulsomely drawled term of endearment from her relative to him; added in a cross between murmur and whisper: