It was a little before five o’clock when she entered the Brown Tea Pot, and she found the cozy tea-room partly empty. To her delight she secured a table to herself near a large screen standing by the pantry door, and from that vantage point she commanded a fine view of the occupants of the room without herself being conspicuous. She had plenty of time to study her surroundings and admire the effect of the softly shaded electric lights which cast a becoming, rosy glow over the scene, before the two people for whom she was waiting, made their appearance. It was the first glimpse Kathryn had had of Janet, and she watched her with jealous, angry eyes. She took in the becoming, chic street costume Janet was wearing, with grudging admiration. Chichester Barnard always had excellent taste in women. Kathryn had overheard Admiral Lawrence tell his wife that their clergyman, at his request, reproved Barnard for his fast life, and had asked him what he would do if confronted at the Judgment Seat by the women he had flirted with. “I shouldn’t be ashamed of one of them,” Barnard had retorted. Janet, barely glancing about her, selected a table across the room from where Kathryn Allen sat, and while out of ear-shot, the pretty nurse could observe them without appearing to do so. By the time Barnard had finished giving his order to their waitress, the people sitting nearest them had completed their tea and departed. Janet bit her lip with vexation; she had chosen that particular table because it had near neighbors, and above all things she wished to avoid anything like a private _tête-à-tête_ with Barnard. Usually the Brown Tea Pot was crowded, and conversation had to be of the most trivial and impersonal character on account of the danger of being overheard. She had accepted Barnard’s invitation to have tea with him against her better judgment. Barnard made no secret of his satisfaction at their isolated position. He never troubled to turn and glance about the room, and Kathryn Allen’s presence went unnoticed. “Are you sure you would rather have hot chocolate than tea, Janet?” he inquired, with gentle solicitude. “Quite sure. Mother says too much tea drinking is responsible for my nervous irritability.” “Your mother is too harsh a critic,” he commented. “I detect no irritability on your part, only----” he paused thoughtfully. “Yes?” she prompted, looking away from him. “An adorable reserve,” ardently. “Why do you not let me see more of you?” “I have already explained the reason, Chichester.” “Your social duties?” He shrugged his shoulders disdainfully. “Bah! why consider such empty trifles.” “They are not trifles, but a treadmill,” she retorted warmly. “But, Chichester, I don’t believe mother and Marjorie would approve of my meeting you so often alone, and I hate to do anything underhand.” “You are the soul of honor.” His look caressed her, and she shivered involuntarily. “Then why not let me call every day at your house?”