"Come right in," he called out genially. "Anything I can do for you? No, I'm not the new Sunday editor--he's away cooling himself somewheres.... I just came in here to finish this sketch." Milly noticed the drawing-paper and the India-ink bottle on the table. "You're not Kim?" Milly stammered. "The same." ("Kim" was the name signed to some clever cartoons that had been appearing all that winter in a rival paper, about which there had been more or less talk in the circles where Milly moved.) "So you've come over to the _Star_?" she said with immediate interest. "The silver-tongued Becker got me--for a price--a small one," he added with a laugh, as if nothing about him was of sufficient consequence to hide. "I'm _so_ glad. I like your pictures awfully well." "Thanks!... And you, I take it, are _la belle Débutante_?" "Yes!" Milly laughed. "How did you know?" "Oh," he replied, and his tone said, "it's because you too are different from the rest here," which flattered Milly. "Won't you come in and sit down?" The young man emptied a chair by the simple process of tipping it and presented it to Milly with a gallant flourish. She sat on the edge and drew up her veil as far as the tip of her nose. The young man smiled. Milly smiled back. They understood each other at once, far better than either could ever understand the other members of the _Star_ staff. Their clothes, their accents, their manners announced that they came from the same world,--that small "larger world," where they all use the same idiom. "Been doing Mackinac and Ocara-se-er-oc?" the young man drawled with delightful irony. "Ye gods! What names!" Both laughed with a pleasant sense of superiority over a primitive civilization, though Milly at least had hardly known any other. "And they're just like their names," Milly asserted, "awful places!" "I've not yet had the privilege of seeing our best people in their summer quarters," the young man continued, with his agreeable air of genial mockery. "You won't see them in those places." "Or anywhere else at present," the artist sighed, glancing at his unfinished sketch. Milly asked to see the drawing, and another inspiration occurred to her. She told the young artist of her idea for a comic article on the hunt through the lake resorts for an ideal place of peace and coolness. He thought it a good topic and suggested graciously that he could do a few small pen-and-ink illustrations to elucidate the text. "Oh, would you!" Milly exclaimed eagerly. It was what she had hoped he would say, and it revived her waning interest in journalism immensely, the prospect of collaboration with this attractive young artist. (She had already forgotten that she was to abandon journalism after the first Monday in September.) Later they went out to tea together to discuss the article. * * * * *