Canning, who was driving his car to-day, as he occasionally liked to do, then asked, why was a Settlement? And as well as she could Carlisle retailed her rather sketchy information: how "they" planned to buy the deserted Dabney House, make it the headquarters for all the organized charities of the city, and use the rest of the great pile for working-men's clubs, night classes, lodgings, gymnasiums and so forth. Thanks to the influence of Rev. Mr. Dayne, Mrs. Heth had been induced to lend her name as a member of the Settlement Association's organization committee. But it was from her cousin Henrietta Cooney that Carlisle had got most of her facts, at a recent coming-to-supper while Hugo was away. Canning, listening, was glancing about him. Having made an adventurous run to-day by way of the old Spring Tavern,--he had plotted it out himself, with maps and blue-books,--they had reëntered the city by the back door as it were, and now spun over unaccustomed streets. "I didn't know you went in for charity, my dear." "Oh, a cousin of mine is drumming up funds for this, you see...." Not clearly understanding it herself, how could she explain the impulse which had led her to offer Hen, without being dunned at all, her royal subscription? Perhaps she had a vague feeling that this would prove, to the complete satisfaction of the public, that she and her family were far from being shameless homicides, dead to all benevolent works. It appeared that mamma had already subscribed fifteen dollars to the Settlement, on personal solicitation of Mr. Dayne, but of course you could not prove anything much for fifteen dollars. Hugo, having turned to look at Carlisle, lost interest in Settlements. His gaze became fixed, and it said, plainer than ardent print, that, if he had many possessions, here was far the best and dearest of them.... "Where's that ripping little hat you wore yesterday? You know--a brown one, sort of a toque, I suppose--all old rose inside?" "Why, Hugo!... Don't you like this hat _extremely_?" "Rather! Only, if there is a choice, I do think I'd vote for the toque.... You've gone and spoiled me by giving away how you can look when you try." Carlisle laughed merrily. She was glad to have her lover so observant of what she wore, even though he did not know nearly so much about clothes as he imagined. "It's not a toque at all," said she, "but I'll wear it for you to-morrow, provided you promise me now to run away from that tiresome secretary and come to lunch." "Done! At one-thirty o'clock." "That's the exact luncheon hour, as it happens, but I notice that many of the best fiancés make it a practice to report for duty at least half an hour before the gong. It _looks_ so much better." "Running and eating's no better than eating and running, you allege. There's some small merit in the contention.... What of those sterling fiancés who punch the time-clock a full hour before the whistle?" "Oh, dear me, Hugo, are there any like that?"