do to get rid of him!

"I think you'd better go home, Mr. Ramsay," I said again,
decidedly. "If you don't, I'll have to call the janitor to put
you out."

"Call, sweetheart. He'll put you out with me; for I'll tell him
a thing or two about you, and we'll go and find a better place
than this. Stock can't be quoted so high, after all, if this is
the best prospectus your friend can put up. . . . Why don't you
call?"

I looked at him. I was thinking.

"Well?" he demanded.

"I've changed my mind."

Oh, Mag, Mag, did you ever see the man--ugly as a cannibal he may
be and old as the cannibal's great-grandfather--that couldn't be
persuaded he was a lady-killer?

His manner changed altogether. He plumped down on the lounge and
patted the place beside him invitingly, giving me a wink that was
deadly.

"But, Mrs. Dowager!" I exclaimed coquettishly.

"Oh, that's all right, little one! She hasn't even missed me
yet. When she's playing Bridge she forgets even to be jealous."