Above, on the embossed platter, were petits fours, watercress sandwiches, a sack of sweetmeats, a bunch of violets, a scatter of cups. Beneath was the puddle. Lennox looked. It seemed all right. Harris, his servant, a little man, thin as an umbrella, sidled silently by. The vestibule took him. From it came the sound of a voice, limpid, clear, which Lennox knew and knew too was not Margaret's. "A lady to see you, sir," Harris, reappearing and effacing himself, announced. The doorway framed her. There, with her shock of auburn hair, her cameo face, her slim figure and her costume which, though simple, was not the ruinous simplicity that Fifth Avenue achieves, Cassy presented a picture very different from that on the table, a picture otherwise differentiated by a bundle that was big as a baby. Lennox did not know but that it might contain a baby and the possibility alarmed this man who was afraid of nobody. "Hello!" he exclaimed. In exclaiming, he stared. He liked the girl. But at the moment she was in the way. Moreover, why she had come to these rooms of his, where she had not been invited, and where she had not ventured before, was a mystery. "How's your father?" he added. There are people, as there are animals, that cannot be awkward and are never ridiculous. Cassy was one of them. None the less she stood on one foot. The tea-table had become very talkative. It told her that it was expecting somebody; that watercress sandwiches were not for her; no, nor Victorian horrors either. "Be off!" it shouted. "Sit down," said Lennox. Cassy, hugging the bundle, remained in the doorway. It was not the tea-table merely, but something else, the indefinable something which one may feel and not describe that was telling her to hurry. Afterward, with that regret which multiplies tears and subtracts nothing, she wished she had hurried, wished rather that she had not come, wished that she had defied the wolf, outfaced the butcher, done anything except enter these rooms. She shifted the bundle. "I have been gadding about in Wall Street. I never was there before, but it is so nice and windy I may go there again. This is just a good-day and good-bye." As she spoke she turned, and as she turned Lennox' heart smote him. He hurried to her. "See here! You can't go like this. Have a cup of tea." Cassy gave him the rare seduction of her smile. "Thank you. I am out on business and I never drink in business hours." But now Lennox had got himself between her and the vestibule. "Business!" he repeated. "What is it? Anything in my line? Let's transact it here. Wall Street is no place"--for a pretty girl he was about to say but, desisting, he substituted--"for you." "But you are expecting people." "How in the world did you know? Anyway, they are not here yet and if they were they would be glad to meet you."