“Serviettes?” suggested Desirée. “But no one nowadays calls them--” “An’ when you don’t want to get jagged, put your hand, ‘with a careless, debbynair movement,’” he quoted, “‘Over the top of whichever glass the serv’nt is offerin’ to fill.’ How’s that?” he ended with pride. “I’ll sit up with that measly book ev’ry night till Friday. By that time I’ll be--” “You’ll be so tangled up you won’t know whether your soup-plate is for oysters or coffee,” she interrupted. “Now listen to me: I’m going to crowd into one inspired lecture all I can think of about dinner etiquette and other social chores, for you to use that evening. And when you go home, burn that book up.” She forthwith launched upon a disquisition of such difficulties as lay before him on his debut as a diner, and how each might be bridged. After the first few sentences, Caleb’s attention strayed from her words to her voice. Its sweetness, its youth and a peculiar child-like quality in it always fascinated him. Now, with the added didactic touch, bred of the lesson she was seeking to teach, he found it altogether wonderful. Listening with rapt, almost worshipping attention, yet noting no word, the giant sat huddled up in an awkward, happy bunch at the feet of the youthful Gamaliel. A bar of lamplight from the opposite side of the street filtered through the swaying window curtains, bringing her half-hidden head with its dusky crown of hair into vague relief. From under the shadowy brows, her great eyes glowed in the dim light. Her dainty, flower face was very earnest. Caleb felt an almost irresistible desire to pass his great, rough palm gently over her features; to catch and kiss one of those tiny, earnestly gesturing hands of hers. She was so little, so young, so pretty. And she wasting all that loveliness on _him_, when she might be fascinating some eligible man. The thought reminded Caleb of his interview with Jack Hawarden. Curious to learn how the lad had availed himself of the permission to woo Desirée, Conover broke in at her next pause, with the abrupt question: “Young Hawarden been here to-day?” “Why, yes,” said Desirée in surprise, “This noon.” “Ask you to marry him?” “He told you?” she cried. “Yes. Beforehand. Didn’t he say I’d gave him leave? No? Well, I s’pose he wouldn’t be likely to. But I did. Sent him on, to try his luck. With my blessin’.” “What do you mean? Did that foolish boy--?” “Came like a little man an’ asked my permission, as your guardian, to make a proposal to you.” “And you told him he could? _What_ business was it of yours, I’d like to know.”