ever seen. For, whether her name was Anita or Anne, about her
beauty there could be no argument; but he assured himself
that he had acted within his rights. A girl who could see in
a well-meant offer to be kind only a subject for ridicule was
of no interest to him. Nor did her telegrams insisting upon
continuing their acquaintance flatter him. As he read them,
they showed only that she looked upon him as one entirely out
of her world--as one with whom she could do an unconventional
thing and make a good story about it later, knowing that it
would be accepted as one of her amusing caprices.

He was determined he would not lend himself to any such
performance. And, besides, he no longer was a foot-loose,
happy-go-lucky reporter. He no longer need seek for
experiences and material to turn into copy. He was now a man
with a responsible position--one who soon would be conferring
with cabinet ministers and putting ambassadors At their ease.
He wondered if a beautiful heiress, whose hand was sought in
marriage by the nobility of England, would understand the
importance of a London correspondent. He hoped someone would
tell her. He liked to think of her as being considerably
impressed and a little unhappy.

Saturday night he went to the theatre for which he had
purchased tickets. And he went alone, for the place that
Sister Anne was to have occupied could not be filled by any
other person. It would have been sacrilege. At least, so it
pleased him to pretend. And all through dinner, which he ate
alone at the same restaurant to which he had intended taking
her, he continued, to pretend she was with him. And at the