To her relief, he was there and answered the ring almost immediately. "Are you there, 'Gene. I want to see you to-day, as soon as possible, within an hour or so. Will it be convenient for you?" "Oh, perfectly. But," there was anxiety in his voice, "nothing is wrong, I hope." "Oh, nothing much," she replied evasively, "only I want to talk to you--but not here." "Why not take luncheon with me," he replied, "at half-past one and where?" "Oh, not in any crowded restaurant," she answered a little impatiently. "At some quiet place. A tea-room--the Wistaria?" "Very well. Then within an hour and a half." "And, oh, Eugene," her voice detaining him, "I want the talisman. Do not fail to bring it. Do you understand?" If Dita wore as a protecting disguise the simple and conventional dark gown which has been prescribed by certain unalterable rules of fiction as the proper costume for a lady hastening to a rendezvous, it failed of its effect, but served instead to accentuate her beauty; nor detracted in the least from her as an object of interest and comment. And Eugene, with his fame, and his air, and his eyes, his lifted shoulder and his limp, the pointed laurel leaves seeming to gleam through his cloud of hair, handed her from her motor-car with the manner of courts, his hat in hand, to the admiration of the passers-by. The whisper ran: "Eugene Gresham and the beautiful Mrs. Hepworth." They passed through a gaping aisle. They entered the tea-room to the craning of necks. Poor souls! This was their measure of seclusion. Beauty and genius! Fame and wealth! It is a combination New York loves. She serves them up to her multitudes on a salver. They were successful, however, in finding a remote table beneath swaying purple clusters of artificial wistaria and a dimly mellow light. And while Eugene ordered the luncheon, Dita glanced about her with a sensation of relief; new surroundings always seem to hold out the alluring if frequently vain promise of new thoughts and this was the beginning of adventure, of that new life of infinite variety she meant to live at last. Eugene turned from the waiter, and leaning across the table narrowly observed her. "A trifle pale," he remarked. "Mad Dita!" reproachfully and yet tenderly. "I hope all that atmospheric unpleasantness--mental, I mean, did not come boiling and seething to the surface after I left last night. I hoped the sirocco had spent itself before I left. But doubtless Hepworth understands how you are affected by a storm." "I'm afraid I did make rather a scene," she admitted, her lashes on her cheek. "However, that is neither here nor there." He drew a breath of relief. "Then it is all over, the atmosphere cleared and we are to begin our sittings to-morrow." He smiled in anticipation and laughingly drew her picture upon the air.