that dinner-party, appalled her. And suddenly an idea presented itself.

Brent leaned over, and began to direct the chauffeur to a well-known
hotel. She interrupted him.

"No," she said, "I'd rather go to the Holland House."

"Very well," he said amicably, not a little surprised at this
unlooked-for acquiescence, and then told his man to keep straight on down
the Avenue.

She began mechanically to rearrange her hat and veil; and after that,
sitting upright, to watch the cross streets with feverish anticipation,
her hands in her lap.

"Honora?" he said.

She did not answer.

"Raise the veil, just for a moment, and look at me."

She shook her head. But for some reason, best known to herself, she
smiled a little. Perhaps it was because her indignation, which would have
frightened many men into repentance, left this one undismayed. At any
rate, he caught the gleam of the smile through the film of her veil, and
laughed.

"We'll have a little table in the corner of the room," he declared, "and
you shall order the dinner. Here we are," he cried to the chauffeur.
"Pull up to the right."