"Hello!--think of the devil and you'll hear the clatter of his hoofs. I was just about to go up to the print-shop to see if I could find you. Been to supper?" "No; I was"-- Jeffard cut in again swiftly, with edgings streetward. "That's lucky; neither have I. Let's go up to the club." Lansdale acceded rather reluctantly, since a cup of tea with Constance easily outweighed the grill-room prospect. "I'll go with you, though I can't promise to play much of a knife and fork," he said. "I was just going up to ask Miss Elliott to give me a cup of tea." They were turning the corner above the stranded apartment house before Jeffard returned the shuttle of speech. "So the Elliotts live down there now, do they?" Lansdale said "Yes," and began to rummage in recollection. Had Jeffard been on Constance Elliott's visiting list in the prehistoric time? It was probable that he had been,--with Dick Bartrow for his sponsor. But at this point recollection turned up the mental notes of a certain talk with Bartrow, in which the downright one had confessed his sins of omission Jeffardward. So Lansdale added a query to the affirmative. "Yes; they live in the Thorson Block. Do you know them?" Jeffard's reply was no reply. "I'll have to take time to think about it," he said; and they had traversed the necessary streets and found a table _à deux_ in the grill-room at the club before he pieced out the unfinished rejoinder. "You asked me if I knew the Elliotts. I did know Miss Elliott,--as I knew some of those people at Mrs. Calmaine's the other evening. It's quite likely she does not remember me." Lansdale's brain went apart again, and the reflective half of it continued the rummaging. On the two or three occasions when he had mentioned the newest star in the bonanzine firmament Constance had been visibly disturbed. The nature of her resentment had not been quite obvious, but Jeffard's tardy rejoinder made it clear. She had known Jeffard and was sorry to be reminded of him.