cocktail with the coffee spoon."

"Oh, isn't this the right implement?" queried Mr. Brown,
contemplating his spoon. "Well, if you ask ME, I'm glad you started
off with it--this soupy stuff'd be the mischief to get away with
with a fork."

Archibald Chesney wouldn't have talked that way. But, nevertheless,
Missy let her eyelids lift up at him in a smile.

"I'm glad you didn't know it was a mistake," she murmured. "I was
TERRIBLY mortified."

"Girls are funny," Mr. Brown replied to that. "Always worrying over
nothing." He returned her smile. "But YOU needn't ever worry."

What did he mean by that? But something in his dark eyes, gazing at
her full, kept Missy from asking the question, made her swiftly
lower her lashes.

"I bet YOU could start eating with a toothpick and get away with
it," he went on.

Did he mean her social savoir-faire--or did he mean--

Just then the butler appeared at her left hand to remove the
cocktail course. She felt emboldened to remark, with an air of ease:

"Oh, Saunders, don't forget to lay the spoons when you serve the
demi-tasses."