It was the first time the boy had seen that name, and he blinked and
smiled and got very red. "Terse and literary," he said, dying to put
his arms round her and kiss her before all mankind. "They'll have
something to talk about at dinner to-night. A nice whack in the eye
for Gleave."

He managed to achieve a supremely blase air while the words were
being counted, but it crumbled instantly when the telegraphist shot
a quick look at Joan and gave Martin a grin of cordial
congratulation.

As soon as he saw a taxi, Martin hailed it and told the chauffeur to
drive to the corner of Forty-second Street and Fifth Avenue. "We'll
walk from there," he said to Joan, "--if you'd like to, that is."

"I would like to. I want to peer into the shop windows and look at
hats and dresses. I've got absolutely nothing to wear. Marty, tell
me, are we well off?"

Martin laughed. She reminded him of a youngster going for a picnic
and pooling pocket money. "Yes," he said, "--quite."

She sat back with her hands crossed in her lap. "I'm so glad. It
simplifies everything to have plenty to spend." But for her
exquisite slightness and freshness, no one would have imagined that
she was an only just-fledged bird, flying for the first time. Her
equability and poise were those of a completely sophisticated woman.
Nothing seemed to surprise her. Whatever happened was all part and
parcel of the great adventure. Yesterday she was an overwatched
girl, looking yearningly at a city that appeared to be unattainable.