“A lunch?” repeated Star, in amazement, and with a puzzled look at Mr. Rosevelt, who was regarding her attentively. “Yes; I had orders to get up the nicest lunch I could for my old friends, and I’m much mistaken if I haven’t done it,” the woman replied, with an air of satisfaction. “You must have a very kind mistress,” the fair girl said, as she drew off her gloves and removed her hat. “I have, the best in the world,” the queer creature returned, with a chuckle. “But come, I’ll show you the way to the dining-room.” Mr. Rosevelt arose, and drawing Star’s hand within his arm, followed her to a room on the opposite side of, and farther down the hall. As she opened the door, Star saw a charming dining-room, furnished in costly woods of different colors, its floor inlaid in an intricate and lovely pattern. In the center stood a table, covered with a heavy white damask cloth, and spread with a glittering array of silver and cut glass, and where also a most tempting repast was awaiting them. Mr. Rosevelt led his wondering companion to one side of the table, and, looking down upon her with the fondest look in the world, said, in a voice which was not quite steady: “Star, my dear, my pure-hearted, faithful little friend, I here formally install you as _mistress of your own table and of your own home_. This is to be your seat henceforth—mine opposite; and, my darling—for such you have become to me—I trust you will be as happy as an old man’s love, gratitude, and wealth can make you.” Star had grown suddenly pale while he spoke, and regarded him with a puzzled expression. “I do not understand,” she said, clasping both her small hands around his arm and leaning heavily upon him.