“Why, I was hard up, that’s all. I have used all my salary for two months and I couldn’t pay my bill at the Savoy.” “Lord!” he said fervently, “why didn’t you—” “I did. Like a fool I sent for you the first thing, but I was awfully glad when five o’clock came you didn’t turn up. Please don’t bother or speak of it again.” And burning with curiosity as to what part Poniotowsky played in her life, Dan sat quiet, not venturing to put to her any more questions. She seemed so tired and so overcome by her own thoughts. When they had turned down toward the hotel, however, he decided that he must in honor tell her his news. “Got some news to tell you,” he exclaimed abruptly. “Want you to congratulate me. I’m engaged to be married to the Duchess of Breakwater. She happens to be a great admirer of your voice.” The actress turned sharply to him and in the dark he could see her little, white face. The covering over her head fell back and she exclaimed: “Heavens!” and impulsively put her hands out over his. “Do you really mean what you say?” “Yes.” He nodded surprisedly. “What do you look like that for?” Letty Lane arranged her scarf and then drew back from him and laughed. “Oh, dear, dear, dear,” she exclaimed, “and I ... and I have been....” She looked up at him swiftly as though she fancied she might detect some new quality in him which she had not observed before, but she saw only his clear, kind eyes, his charming smile and his beautiful, young ignorance, and said softly to him: “No use to cry, little boy, if it’s true! But that woman isn’t half good enough for you—not half, and I guess you think it funny enough to hear _me_ say so! What does the other boy from Montana say?” “Don’t know,” Dan answered indifferently. “Marconied him; didn’t tell him about it before he left. You see he doesn’t understand England—doesn’t like it.” A little dazed by the way each of the two women took the mention of the other, he asked timidly: “You don’t like the Duchess of Breakwater, then?” And she laughed again. “Goodness gracious, I don’t know her; actresses don’t sit around with duchesses.” Then abruptly, her beautiful eyes, under their curled dark lashes, full on him, she asked: “Do _you_ like her?” “You bet!” he said ardently. “Of course I do. I am crazy about her.” Yet he realized, as he replied, that he didn’t have any inclination to begin to talk about his fiancée. They had reached the Carlton and the door of Letty Lane’s motor was held open. “Better get out,” he urged, “and have something to eat.” And she, leaning a little way toward him, laughed. “Crazy! Your engagement would be broken off to-morrow.” And she further said: “If I really thought it would, why I’d come like a shot.” As she leaned forward, her cloak slipping from her neck, revealing her throat above the dark collar of the simple dress she wore, he looked in her dove-gray eyes, and murmured: “Oh, say, do come along and risk it. I’m game, all right.”