Paul did not seem as impressed by this statement as were an after-theater party at an adjoining table, and embraced a quiet opportunity to move an unfinished bottle out of her enthusiastic reach. Jean glowed under the scrutiny of the supper-party opposite, and, exchanging a look with Paul, rose presently to go. Amy objected eloquently, pointing out that it still wanted half an hour of midnight and that department stores did no business Sundays, together with sundry arguments as trenchant, which plainly carried weight with the attentive tables roundabout, but failed to convince her companions. Near the door she fell in with an unexpected ally in the person of Mr. Rose, who listened to her protests quite as sympathetically as if they had not already reached him across the room, and promptly invited them all to what he termed a nightcap with himself. Jean declined civilly, and Amy, though sore tempted, followed her example. Once outside, however, she asserted her perfect independence by walking off with Mr. Rose on his remarking easily that he would stroll their way. "Aching incisors!" ejaculated the dentist, grimly watching them forge ahead. "Where did I get the foolish idea that I was her escort? Who is that flower, anyhow?" "An employee in our store." "Oh!" said Paul. "Clerk?" "No; a floor-walker." "Oh!" he said again, with a change of intonation which Jean detected. "In her department?" "No; in mine." "Oh!" Amy's laugh came back shrilly through the now sparsely frequented street. "I shouldn't have ordered so much beer," admitted the man. "It was too heavy for her, even if her stepfather--but let's cut that out!" Jean herself thought that this passage from the Jeffries family history might better be left undiscussed. She quickened their pace till they were close upon Amy's too buoyant heels, and so continued to their door. Amy was full of regrets that she could not at this hour with propriety ask Mr. Rose into Mrs. St. Aubyn's drawing-room, and as Paul inhospitably neglected to offer his quarters, the floor-walker, with unflagging cordiality and self-possession, took himself off. "I don't cotton to Mr. Rose," said the dentist, in a voice too low for Amy, who was already mounting the stairs. "I hope you don't." "I don't know him." "You don't want to know him, take my word for it. This isn't sour grapes because he butted in, mind you. If you knew the city, I wouldn't say a word." Jean bent a frank gaze upon him under the dim hall light. Paul met it to her satisfaction. "Thank you for to-night," she said, giving him her hand. "Thank you for all of it; for the theater and the supper and for--this."