slightest premonition of what was about to befall. His chief sensation
was the hunger which comes of early rising and of many hours spent in
the open, and beyond that he was hoping that the Chinaman cook had
made some meat-pie, like he had the week before. His eyes, searching
unobtrusively the long table bearing the unmistakable signs of many
other hungry men gone before--for Andy was late--failed to warn him.
He pulled out his chair and sat down, still looking for meat-pie.

"Good after_noon!_" cried an eager, feminine voice just across the
table.

Andy started guiltily. He had been dimly aware that some one was
sitting there, but, being occupied with other things, had not given a
thought to the sitter, or a glance. Now he did both while he said good
afternoon with perfunctory politeness.

"Such a _beau_tiful day, isn't it? _so_ invigorating, like rare, old
wine!"

Andy assented somewhat dubiously; it had never just struck him that
way; he thought fleetingly that perhaps it was because he had never
come across any rare, old wine. He ventured another glance. She was
not young, and she wore glasses, behind which twinkled very bright
eyes of a shade of brown. She had unpleasantly regular hair waves on
her temples, and underneath the waves showed streaks of gray. Also,
she wore a black silk waist, and somebody's picture made into a brooch
at her throat. Further, Andy dared not observe. It was enough for one
glance. He looked again for the much-desired meat-pie.

The strange lady ingratiatingly passed him the bread. "You're a