"Can I help?" she asked.

"No, thanks, everything is back in place." He pulled forward a
chair for her. "If agreeable to you I will telephone Ben Clymer
that we will stop for him and take him with us to the Caf St.
Marks; or would you prefer some other man?"

"Oh, no." She threw her evening wrap across the sofa and sat down.
"Are the girls ready?"

"They - they are indisposed, and won't be able to go to-night."

"What! Both girls?"

"Yes, both" - firmly, not, however, meeting her eyes.

"Hadn't I better stay with them?" she asked. "Have you telephoned
or Dr. Stone?"

"There is no necessity for giving up our little spree," he declared
cheerily. "The girls don't need a physician. They" - with meaning,
"need a mother's care." He picked up her coronation scarf from the
floor where it had slipped and laid it across her bare shoulders;
the action was almost a caress. She made a lovely picture as she
sat in the high-backed carved chair in her chic evening gown, and as
her soft dark eyes met his ardent look, McIntyre felt the hot blood
surge to his temples, and with quickened pulse he went to the
telephone stand and gave Central a number.

Back in her chair Mrs. Brewster sat thoughtfully watching him. She