"Not till we've had our tea," Margaret wailed. "You couldn't be so cruel, David." "You shall have your tea, my dear, and one of the happiest surprises of your life into the bargain," David assured her as he led the way to the waiting cab. "I wouldn't leave this place unfed for anybody but you, David, not if it were ever so, and then some, as Jimmie says." "What's the matter with Jimmie, anyhow?" David inquired as the taxi turned down the Avenue and immediately entangled itself in a hopeless mesh of traffic. "I don't know; why?" Gertrude answered, though she had not been the one addressed at the moment. "What's the matter with this hat?" she rattled on without waiting for an answer. "I thought it was good-looking myself, and Madam Paran robbed me for it." "It is good-looking," David allowed. "It seems to be a kind of retrieving hat, that's all. Keeps you in a rather constant state of looking after the game." "What about my hat, David?" Margaret inquired anxiously. "Do you like that?" "I do," David admitted. "I'm crazy about it. It's a lovely cross between the style affected by the late Emperor Napoleon and my august grandmother, with some frills added." The chauffeur turned into a cross street and stopped abruptly before an imposing but apparently unguarded entrance. "Why, I thought this was a studio building," Gertrude said. "David, if you're springing a tea party on us, and we in the wild ungovernable state we are at present, I'll shoot the way my hat is pointing." "Straight through my left eye-glass," David finished. "You wait till you see the injustice you have done me." But Margaret, who often understood what was happening a few moments before the revelation of it, clutched at his elbow. "Oh! David, David," she whispered, "how wonderful!" "Wait till you see," David said, and herded them into the elevator. Their destination was the top floor but one. David hurried them around the bend in the sleekly carpeted corridor and touched the bell on the right of the first door they came to. It opened almost instantly and David's man, who was French, stood bowing and smiling on the threshold. "Mr. Styvvisont has arrive'," he said; "he waits you." "Welcome to our city," Peter cried, appearing in the doorway of the room Alphonse was indicating with that high gesture of delight with which only a Frenchman can lead the way. "Jimmie's coming up from the office and Beulah's due any minute. What do you think of the place, girls?" "Is it really yours, David?"