every one knew that Mr. Fenimer would present no obstacles.

"Who are you lunching with, Max? Is that your little secretary?"

The tone, very civil and friendly, made Max furious, as if any one that
Christine did not know was hardly worth inquiring about.

"No, it's Miss Lane--an old friend of mine. I think I must have spoken to
you about her."

"Oh, the perfect provider? Is that really she?" Christine craned her neck
openly to stare at her. "Why, she's rather nice looking--for a good
housekeeper, that is. You're dining with me to-night, aren't you?"

"No," answered Riatt, with a sudden inspiration of ill-humor. "I'm dining
with Miss Lane."

"Bring her, too! Won't she come?"

"I really can't say."

"You can ask her."

"To your house?"

Christine always knew when she was really beaten. She got up with a
sigh. "Take me over," she said to him, "and I'll ask her myself." And
she added to the Linburnes: "Out-of-town people are always so fussy
about little things."