turning away from the door. His handsome face brightened at the sight of
her, and he sprang forward hatless to furnish her with quite unnecessary
aid in stepping out of the taxi.

"Oh, _there_ you are!" he said. "Sparker said you might be home for
lunch and again you might not. Please may I graft a meal?"

"Of course," said Barbara, "but unless somebody else drops out of the
skies we'll be all alone."

"Your father off on a case?"

"Yes," said Barbara, as they went in, "he is operating, but in Wall
Street. And what's the best news with you?"

"That spring's come and summer's coming. When do your holidays begin?"

"_That"_ said Barbara, with a certain air of triumph, "is a secret of
the workshop. Let's sit in the dining-room. It's the only way to
hurry lunch."

To persons used to humbler ways of life Dr. Ferris's dining-room would
have proved too large and stately a place for purposes of intimate
conversation. Warriors and ladies looked down from the tapestried walls
upon a small round table set with heavy silver and light glass for two,
and having the effect, in the midst of an immense deep-blue rug, of a
little island in a lake. But Barbara and Wilmot Allen, well used to even
larger and more stately rooms, faced each other across the white linen
with its pattern of lotus-plants and swans, and chatted as comfortably
and unconcernedly as two children in their nursery.