friendly now. Watching the amusement in his face, she continued to sip
from his tall, frosted glass, quite unconscious of any distaste for it.
On the contrary, she experienced a slight exhilaration which was
gradually becoming delightful to her.

"Scotch-and-soda is rather nice, after all," she observed. "I had no
idea--_What_ is the matter with you, Duane?"

"You haven't swallowed all that, have you?"

"Yes, is it much?"

He stared, then with a shrug: "You'd better cut out that sort of thing."

"What?" she asked, surprised.

"What you're doing."

"Tasting your Scotch? Pooh!" she said, "it isn't strong. Do you think
I'm a baby?"

"Go ahead," he said, "it's your funeral."

Legs crossed, chin resting on the butt of his riding-crop, he lay back
in his chair watching her.

Women of her particular type had always fascinated him; Fifth Avenue is
thronged with them in sunny winter mornings--tall, slender, faultlessly
gowned girls, free-limbed, narrow of wrist and foot; cleanly built,
engaging, fearless-eyed; and Geraldine was one of a type characteristic