"But I just couldn't act any differently. I seem to be tied up in double bow-knots. You understand, don't you?" Her ardent little face pleaded. The wistful eyes sought his evasive gaze. As he met them his heart contracted. An amazing childish desire to cry suddenly came over him. Damn it, the girl had no business to be so pathetic! He caught the groping hand and squeezed it fraternally. "Let's let bygones be bygones," he replied. "But if you still wish it, I'll drive you directly home. However, the Gramatan Inn is much nearer and I'm a starving man. Won't you change your mind and have lunch with me?" He looked so eager and boyish that she hated to refuse him. "I'm not very hungry," she ventured doubtfully. "Oh, but you will be! I'll wrap the rug about you tightly and open the window, and by the time we get there you'll be ready to eat shoe leather." "Very well," she smiled at him faintly, as he opened the window and tucked the bearskin robe about her. "But will they allow Bébé in the dining room?" She clutched weakly at a last hope. "We'll smuggle him under my coat, that'll be half the fun! And if they put us out, that will be still more fun!" His unaffected gayety was contagious. "You are grimly determined to have a good time, whatever happens, aren't you?" she said with an ironic lift of the delicate brows. They glided back on to the road. "It isn't every day I have lunch with a pretty girl. My Sundays are lonesome and monotonous," replied the doctor simply. Claire looked at him in amazement. "A pretty girl!" she stammered almost indignantly. That was trying to humor her a little too far! His eyes met her hurt gaze with unfeigned astonishment. "What's the matter? Have I offended again?" he asked quietly. "I'd like you better if you didn't pretend that I was pretty, that's all," said Claire somberly. "Nobody knows better than I what a plain, insignificant creature I am." "You are neither plain nor insignificant," he replied crossly. "And I'm not the kind of man to say what I don't mean." Claire flushed painfully at her lack of savoir faire. "Please forgive me, Dr. Elliott. I don't seem to know how to take things lightly any more." He smiled sideways at her. "We seem to do nothing but quarrel and make up like a pair of kids! But how about the appetite? For here we are!" They had entered Bronxville, and the Gramatan Inn loomed benevolently over them from the top of its comfortable little hill. "How pretty!" exclaimed Claire, jumping out of the car almost briskly. "Quite English, isn't it?" He noticed her animated face with secret pleasure. "Tries to be," laughed he. "Where's the flea? Let's hide him under my coat." Claire looked surprised, then nodded understanding. "Oh, you mean Bébé!" She handed him the little dog laughingly. "Remember, if the flea bites, you mustn't scratch!" But the waiter was kind, and as the dining-room was almost empty, permitted the beastie a chair between them.