Once more Philip struggled with inborn constraint and made himself say: “You said the family wouldn’t be expecting you this early. I haven’t been to dinner--I was just on my way. Won’t you go along and have a bite with me?” She hesitated, but only for a moment. “I don’t know why I shouldn’t, if you want me to.” Then, as he drew her arm under his own and steered her toward the Larimer Street corner; “You got the note I wrote you last spring?” “Not until just the other day, when I came back from my year in the mountains. When I went away last spring I didn’t leave any forwarding address; I couldn’t, very well, because I hadn’t the remotest idea where I was going to be from week to week. So my mail was held here in the railroad office. Since I read your note, I’ve been trying to find out what had become of you and your mother and the girls, but I couldn’t get even a starting point. You have been in Denver all the time?” “Yes; there was nothing to do but to stay here.” Then, as they turned west on Larimer: “Where are you taking me?” “I thought we would go around to Charpiot’s--unless you would rather make it the Windsor or the St. James.” “Oh, but you mustn’t do anything like that!” she protested quickly. “They are all three too horribly expensive.” He smiled under cover of the darkness, saying: “I guess we can stand the expense, for once in a way. We will go to Charpiot’s. Bero always has good cooks; imports them from New Orleans, so they say.” Then, in a gratulatory outburst as foreign to his later moods--and to the New England traditions--as was his praise of French cooks: “You can’t imagine what a comfort it is to be with you again. I was beginning to be afraid I had lost you for good and all.” She acknowledged the outburst with a friendly little pressure of his arm. “It is nice to know that you hadn’t forgotten us. How long did you say you have been back?” “Only a few days; less than three weeks, to be exact.” “And you are working in the railroad office again?” He did not answer because they were entering the hotel and M’sieu Bero, successor to the man who had made Charpiot’s the Delmonico’s of Denver, was bustling forward to welcome them. “Delight’ to see you, M’sieu Trask; _et vous_, Ma’mselle--or is it the Madame?” Philip flushed like an embarrassed boy and hastened to stand his companion’s identity upon its proper feet. “Miss Dabney,” he said. “She is from the South and knows your New Orleans cooking. Can you put us where we will be by ourselves?” “But, yes! A private room up-stairs, maybe?” “Oh, no; not that,” Philip broke in, flushing again at the too plain implication; “just a corner in the public room where we can have a table together.” “I fix you,” was the reply; and the table for two was secured, where Philip, sitting opposite his guest, had his first good look at her in a strong light.