Early in the new year she began to agitate the question of a dinner to the Drydens. Wallace, who had taken a fancy to Adele, agreed lazily to endure John's company, which he did not enjoy, for one evening. But he obstinately overruled Martie on the subject of a dinner at home. "Nix," said Wallace flatly. "I won't have my wife cooking for anybody!" "But Wallace--just grape-fruit and broilers and a salad! And they'll come out and help cook it. You don't know how informally we did things at Grandma's!" "Well, you're not doing things informally now. It would be different if you had a couple of servants!" "But it may be years before we have a couple of servants. Aren't we ever going to entertain, until then?" "I don't know anything about that. But I tell you I won't have them thinking that we're hard up. I'll take them to a restaurant somewhere, and show that little boob a square meal!" He finally selected an oppressively magnificent restaurant where a dollar-and-a-half table-d'hote dinner was served. "But I'd like to blow them to a real dinner!" he regretted. "Oh, Wallace, I'm not trying to impress them! We'll have more than enough to eat, and music, and a talk. Then we can break up at about ten, and we'll have done the decent thing!" The four were to meet at half-past six, but both Adele and Wallace were late, and John and Martie had half an hour's talk while they waited. Martie fairly bubbled in her joy at the chance to speak of books and poems, ideals and reforms again. She told him frankly and happily that she had missed him; she had wanted to see him so many times! And he looked tired; he had had grippe? "Always motherly!" he said, a smile on the strange mouth, but no corresponding smile in the faunlike eyes. Wallace arrived in a bad mood, as Martie instantly perceived. But Adele, radiant in a new hat, was prettily concerned for his cold and fatigue, and they were quickly escorted to a table near the fountain, and supplied with cocktails. Cheered, Wallace demanded the bill-of-fare, "the table-d'hote, Handsome!" said he to the appreciative waiter. The man lowered his head and murmured obsequiously. The table-d'hote dinner was served only on the balcony, sir. This caused a halt in the rising gaiety. The group looked a little blank. They were established here, the ladies had surrendered their wraps, envious late-comers were eying their table. Still Martie did not hesitate. She straightened back in her chair, and pushed her hands at full length upon the table, preliminary to rising. "Then we'll go up!" she said sensibly. But Wallace demurred. What was the difference! They would stay here. The difference proved to be about twenty dollars. "I hope it was worth it to you!" Wallace said bitterly to his wife at breakfast the next day. "Twenty-six dollars the check was. It was worth about twenty-six cents to me!" "But, Wallie, you didn't have to order wine!"