--to insure a proper settlement with the waiter,-- he concluded his sentence. Please let me know, then, where I may meet you on Saturday evening next. "I told you that was quite impossible, Mr. Pendleton," she reminded him. "You haven't told me why." "There are a hundred reasons, and they can't be discussed here." "That's it," he exclaimed triumphantly. "That's the whole trouble! We can't discuss things here; so let's have our little dinner, and then there'll be all the chance in the world for you to tell me why you shouldn't come." "You're absurd," she declared, with an involuntary smile. Hoping for the favor of an early reply,-- he concluded,-- I beg to remain, Madame, most sincerely yours. "Is that all?" "You might add this postscript":-- I shall be at the Harvard Club at seven to-night, and a 'phone message there might be the most convenient way of replying. "You don't really wish this typed, Mr. Pendleton?" "I think it best," he replied as he rose, "unless you're too tired?" "I'm never tired in business hours." He returned to his desk; in a few seconds he heard the click of her machine. Miss Winthrop did not stop at the delicatessen store that night, but went direct to her room. She removed her hat and coat, and then sat down, chin in hands, to think this problem out. She had missed Pendleton at the luncheon hour to a distinctly discomfiting degree. Naturally enough, she held him wholly responsible for that state of mind. Her life had been going along smoothly until he took it upon himself to come into the office. There had been no complications--no worries. She was earning enough to provide her with a safe retreat at night, and to clothe and feed her body; and this left her free, within certain accepted limits, to do as she pleased. This was her enviable condition when Mr. Pendleton came along--came from Heaven knew where, and took up his position near her desk. Then he had happened upon her at the little restaurant. And he was hungry and had only thirteen cents. Perhaps right there was where she had made her mistake. It appeared that a woman could not be impersonally decent to a man without being held personally responsible. If she did not telephone him to-night, Pendleton would be disappointed, and, being disappointed, Heaven only knew what he would do. Under the circumstances, perhaps the wisest thing she could do was to meet him this once and make him clearly understand that she was never to meet him again. Pendleton was young, and he had not been long enough in the office to learn the downtown conventions. It was her fault that she had interested herself in him in the first place. It was her fault that she had allowed him to lunch with her. It was her fault that she had not been strictly businesslike with him in the office. So she would have dinner with him, and that would end it.