He wondered what Miss Winthrop did when she was tired, where she lived and how she lived, if she played bridge, if she spent her summers abroad, who her parents were, whether she was eighteen or twenty-two or -three, and if she sang. All of which had nothing to do with the affairs of the company that wished to dispose of its gold bonds at a price to net four and a half. At twelve Miss Winthrop rose from her machine and sought her hat in the rear of the office. At twelve-five she came back, passed him as if he had been an empty chair, and went out the door. At twelve-ten he followed. He made his way at once to the restaurant in the alley. She was not in the chair she had occupied yesterday, but farther back. Happily, the chair next to her was empty. "Will you hold this for me?" he asked. "Better drop your hat in it," she suggested rather coldly. He obeyed the suggestion, and a minute later returned with a cup of coffee and an egg sandwich. She was gazing indifferently across the room as he sat down, but he called her attention to his lunch. "You see, I got one of these things to-day." "So?" "Do you eat it with a fork or pick it up in your fingers?" he asked. She turned involuntarily to see if he was serious. She could not tell, but it was a fact he looked perplexed. "Oh, pick it up in your fingers," she exclaimed. "But look here; are you coming here every day?" "Sure," he nodded. "Why not?" "Because, if you are, I'm going to find another place." "You--what?" he gasped. "I'm going to find another place." The sandwich was halfway to his lips. He put it down again. "What have I done?" he demanded. She was avoiding his eyes. "Oh, it isn't you," she answered. "But if the office ever found out--" "Well," he insisted. "It would make a lot of talk, that's all," she concluded quickly. "I can't afford it." "Whom would they talk about?" "Oh, they wouldn't talk about you--that's sure." "They would talk about you?" "They certainly would." "What would they say?" "You think it over," she replied. "The thing you want to remember is that I'm only a stenographer there, and you--well, if you make good you'll be a member of the firm some day." "I don't see what that has to do with where you eat or where I eat." "It hasn't, as long as we don't eat at the same place. Can't you see that?" She raised her eyes and met his. "I see now," he answered soberly. "They'll think I'm getting fresh with you?" "They'll think I'm letting you get fresh," she answered, lowering her eyes. "But you don't think that yourself?" "I don't know," she answered slowly. "I used to think I could tell; but now--oh, I don't know!" "But good Heavens! you've been a regular little trump to me. You've even lent me the money to buy my lunches with. Do you think any man could be so low down--" "Those things aren't fit to eat when they're cold," she warned him. He shoved his plate aside and leaned toward her. "Do you think--"