"I'd like to," she said, "but do you think I had better?"

"Why not?"

"You mean--take lunch with you?"

"Why not?"

"Is it customary?"

"No, it isn't."

"Then I think I will go out to lunch somewhere--"

"I'm not going to let you get away," he said, laughing. "You're too good
to be real; I'm worried half to death for fear that you'll vanish in a
golden cloud, or something equally futile and inconsiderate. No, I want
you to stay. You don't mind, do you?"

He was aiding her to descend from her eyrie, her little white hand
balanced on his arm. When she set foot on the floor she looked up at him
gravely:

"You wouldn't let me do anything that I ought not to, would you, Mr.
Kelly--I mean Mr. Neville?" she added in confusion.

"No. Anyway I don't know what you ought or ought not to do. Luncheon is
a simple matter of routine. It's sole significance is two empty
stomachs. I suppose if you go out you _will_ come back, but--I'd rather
you'd remain."