“This is more than I had hoped for, Miss Benton—one little word with you. The gods must have heard my prayer. From the minute I first saw you, there was something I knew I must ask you. May I not hope to see you again?” Elinor flushed, as she looked shyly up from the diagrams she was drawing on the table cloth with her fork. It was not the girl the others knew who only stammered, for once at a loss: “Why, I—I—oh I should so like to have you call, Mr. Druid, but I am just out, and my mother is—is—rather——” “Please—” Templeton Druid looked just properly pained, and oh, such an unjustly misunderstood man,—“I understand perfectly. Your mother naturally would be particular with so charming a daughter, and a man in my profession——” “No, no, it isn’t that,” Elinor hastened to interrupt. She felt apologetic, too. “My mother’s ideas are rather peculiar. She’s a dear, but she is old-fashioned and——” “I wonder,” he said slowly, placing his hand over hers as if quite by accident and allowing it to remain there, “if we couldn’t manage to meet in spite of—mother’s precaution. I have a perfect little speed marvel of a roadster. Can’t I take you for a drive?—Say Tuesday afternoon?” Elinor’s heart thumped madly, and struggle as she would, she could not control the trembling of her hands beneath his. But she replied with seeming carelessness, after what might have been due deliberation. “Well—er—possibly. I know I should enjoy it immensely—still——” Templeton Druid half suppressed a sigh as of deep joy and delight. “Then that’s settled,” he breathed, “and I’ll be at the 57th Street entrance to the park at two o’clock—Ah, kind—so kind!” And his eyes, as Geraldine DeLacy caught a quick glimpse of them from across the table and smiled, said unutterable things as he gazed into the misty blue orbs of Elinor Benton. CHAPTER VII