brightening with the fortunate conception--"I've just thought of
something. Will it unbutton?"

MISS GALBRAITH: "Unbutton?"

MR. RICHARDS: "Yes; this garment of yours."

MISS GALBRAITH: "My polonaise?" Inquiringly, "Yes."

MR. RICHARDS: "Well, then, it's a very simple matter. If you will
just take it off I can easily" -

MISS GALBRAITH, faintly: "I can't. A polonaise isn't like an
overcoat" -

MR. RICHARDS, with dismay: "Oh! Well, then"--He remains thinking a
moment in hopeless perplexity.

MISS GALBRAITH, with polite ceremony: "The porter will be back soon.
Don't trouble yourself any further about it, please. I shall do very
well."

MR. RICHARDS, without heeding her: "If you could kneel on that foot-
cushion, and face the window" -

MISS GALBRAITH, kneeling promptly: "So?"

MR. RICHARDS: "Yes, and now"--kneeling beside her--"if you'll allow
me to--to get at the window-catch,"--he stretches both arms forward;
she shrinks from his right into his left, and then back again,--"and