They entered the office. Mr. Langham could now see, having wiped the fog from his glasses. He saw a lovely girl in black, seated at a table facing him. Beyond her was a roaring fire of backlogs. Arthur presented Mr. Langham. "Are you frozen?" asked Maud. "Too cold to write your name in our brand-new register?" He took the pen which she offered him and wrote his name in a large, clear hand, worthy of John Hancock. "It's the first name in the book," he said. "It's always been a very lucky name for me. I hope it will be for you." Arthur had escaped. "There is one more formality," said Maud: "breakfast." "I had a little something in my car," said Mr. Langham; "but if it wouldn't be too much trouble--er--just a few little eggs and things." "How would it be," said Maud, "if I took you straight to the kitchen? My sister Mary presides there, and you shall tell her exactly what you want, and she will see that you get it." A rosy blush mounted Mr. Langham's good-natured face. "Oh," he said, with the deepest sincerity, "if I am to have the _entrée_ to the kitchen, I shall be happy. I will tell you a secret. At my club I always breakfast in the kitchen. It's against the rules, but I do it. A friendly chef--beds of glowing charcoal--burnished copper--piping-hot tidbits." It was up-hill to Smoke House, and Mr. Langham, in his burdensome overcoat, grew warm on the way, and was puffing slightly when he got there. "Mary," Maud called--"Mr. Langham!" "The kitchen is the foundation of all domestic happiness," said he. "I have come to yours as fast as I could. I think--I _know_, that I never saw a brighter, happier-looking kitchen." He knew also that he had never seen so beautiful a presiding deity. "Your sister," he said, "told me that I could have a little breakfast right here." And he repeated the statement concerning his club kitchen. "Of course, you can!" said Mary. "Just a few eggs," he said, "and if there's anything green----" They called the chef. He was very happy because the season had begun. He assigned Mr. Langham a seat from which to see and at which to be served, then with the wrist-and-finger elegance of a prestidigitator, he began to prepare a few eggs and something green. "The trout--" Mary began dutifully, as it was for the sake of these that Mr. Langham had ostensibly come so early in the season. "Trout?" he said. "The fishing--" She made a new beginning.