The eyes of the cruel cross-examiner, veiled under half-closed lids, were regarding the boy with so curious an expression that under their scrutiny Mannie, in embarrassment, moved uneasily. “I guess that’s right,” he repeated. To his surprise, the District Attorney rose from his comfortable position and, leaning across the table, held out his hand. Mannie took it awkwardly. “That’s all right,” he said. “Sure, it’s all right,” said the District Attorney. From the hall there was the sound of light, quick steps, and Mannie, happy to escape from a situation he did not understand, ran to the door. “She’s coming,” he said. He opened the door and, as Vera entered, he slipped past her and closed it behind him. Vera walked directly to the chair at the top of the centre table. She was nervous, and she was conscious that that fact was evident. To avoid shaking hands with her visitor, she carried her own clasped in front of her, with the fingers interlaced. She tried to speak in her usual suave, professional tone. “How do you do?” she said. But Winthrop would not be denied. With a smile that showed his pleasure at again seeing her, he advanced eagerly, with his hand outstretched. “How are you?” he exclaimed. “Aren’t you going to shake hands with me?” he demanded. “With an old friend?” Vera gave him her hand quickly, and then, seating herself at the table, picked up the ivory pointer. “I didn’t know you were coming as an old friend,” she murmured embarrassedly. “You said you were coming to consult Vera, the medium.” “But you said that was the only way I could come,” protested Winthrop. “Don’t you remember, you said--” Vera interrupted him. She spoke distantly, formally. “What kind of a reading do you want?” she asked. “A hand reading, or a crystal reading?” Winthrop leaned forward in his chair, frankly smiling at her. He made no attempt to conceal the pleasure the sight of her gave him. His manner was that of a very old and dear friend, who, for the first time, had met her after a separation of years. “Don’t want any kind of a reading,” he declared. “I want a talking. You don’t seem to understand,” he objected, “that I am making an afternoon call.” His good humor was unassailable. Looking up with a perplexed frown, Vera met his eyes and saw that he was laughing at her. She threw the ivory pointer down and, leaning back in her chair, smiled at him. “I don’t believe,” she said doubtfully, “that I know much about afternoon calls. What would I do, if we were on Fifth Avenue? Would I give you tea?” she asked, “because,” she added hastily, “there isn’t any tea.” “In that case, it is not etiquette to offer any,” said Winthrop gravely. “Then,” said Vera, “I’m doing it right, so far?” They both laughed; Vera because she still was in awe of him, and Winthrop because he was happy. “You’re doing it charmingly,” Winthrop assured her. “Good!” exclaimed Vera. “Well, now,” she inquired, “now we talk, don’t we?”