Ross Wilbur presented himself at the Herrick house on Pacific
Avenue much too early upon the afternoon of Miss Herrick's tea.
As he made, his way up the canvased stairs he was aware of a
terrifying array of millinery and a disquieting staccato chatter
of feminine voices in the parlors and reception-rooms on either
side of the hallway. A single high hat in the room that had been
set apart for the men's use confirmed him in his suspicions.

"Might have known it would be a hen party till six, anyhow," he
muttered, swinging out of his overcoat. "Bet I don't know one
girl in twenty down there now--all mamma's friends at this hour,
and papa's maiden sisters, and Jo's school-teachers and
governesses and music-teachers, and I don't know what all."

When he went down he found it precisely as he expected. He went
up to Miss Herrick, where she stood receiving with her mother and
two of the other girls, and allowed them to chaff him on his
forlornness.

"Maybe I seem at my ease," said Ross Wilbur to them, "but really I
am very much frightened. I'm going to run away as soon as it is
decently possible, even before, unless you feed me."

"I believe you had luncheon not two hours ago," said Miss Herrick.
"Come along, though, and I'll give you some chocolate, and
perhaps, if you're good, a stuffed olive. I got them just because
I knew you liked them. I ought to stay here and receive, so I
can't look after you for long."

The two fought their way through the crowded rooms to the