"I thought so," she said. "I'm rather good at Proverbs, and I don't remember that one. If you meant to give me a nasty knock you might have reminded me that it is better to dwell in a corner of the house-top than with a brawling woman in a wide house.... Do you like coffee, or tea?" "Both." "Mixed? Mrs. Jackson didn't know your tastes, so I told her to be extravagant." "I'll try the coffee, please." It was an odd sensation to find himself seated at table with such a vivacious companion. Marguerite Garth had evidently banished her overnight experiences into the limbo of yesterday's seven thousand years. She could not have smiled more gayly, or been more at ease with a friend of long standing. "Betty and I have been exchanging impressions about you," she rattled on. "We agree that you're not half so severe as you look. But I'm not such a marvelous guesser as you are, so, will you tell me what I'm to call you?" "Bob." "Mr. Bob?" "I don't mean that my name rhymes with Lobb, or Dobb or Hobb. Bob is a diminutive of Robert." "But Robert what?" "No, just Bob." "Don't be silly. You must have another name." "The name on Mr. Walker's register is such a mouthful--Armathwaite, if you _will_ have it." "What a queer way to put it! 'On Mr. Walker's register.' Isn't it your real name?" "There! I was sure you would say that. Why not be content with blunt and honest-sounding Bob?" "Shall we establish a sort of cousinship? You're Bob and I'm Meg." "That would be a most excellent beginning, Meg." She laughed delightedly. "We're having quite an adventure!" she cried. "It sounds like a chapter out of an exciting novel. I hope you didn't think I was rude about your other name--the long one--Bob! You see, I used to be Meg Garth, but now I'm Meg Ogilvey. I'm hardly accustomed to the Ogilvey yet, but I rather like it. Don't you?" Armathwaite's face darkened, and he swallowed a piece of bacon without giving it even one of the twenty-nine bites recommended by dietists as a minimum. "Why, that makes you look at me black as thunder," she vowed. "It's a quite simple matter. My people came into some money when we left Elmdale, and the Ogilvey was part of the legacy. It reaches us from the maternal side of the family, and the change was easy enough for dad, because he always wrote under the pen-name of Stephen Ogilvey." "Stephen Ogilvey--the man who is an authority on folk-lore?" The genuine surprise in his voice evidently pleased his hearer. "Yes. How thrilling that you should recognize him! That is real fame, isn't it?--to be regarded as top-dog in your particular line. But you seemed to be angry when I told you about it." "I thought you were married," he said, secretly quaking at his own temerity. Again she knitted her brows in a rather fascinating effort to appear sagacious. "I don't quite see----" she began. Then she stopped suddenly. "You think that if I were married I wouldn't be quite such a tom-boy--is that it?" she went on.