"That's wonderful luck!" he exclaimed joyously.

"Wonderful luck for a girl to sit at a desk and listen to an irritable young man?"

"If you'll stop talking bally nonsense for a moment----"

"If you bully me, I shall stop talking altogether!"

"For heaven's sake----"

"I hear you, kind sir; you need not shout!"

He said humbly: "Palla, would you let me drop in----"

"Drop into what? Into poetry? Please do!"

"For the love of----"

"Jim! You told me last evening that you expected to be at the opera to-night."

"I'm not going."

"--So I didn't expect you to call me!"

"Can't I see you?" he asked.

"I'm sorry----"

"The deuce!"

"I'm expecting some people, Jim. It's your own fault; I didn't expect a tete-a-tete with you this evening."

"Is it a party you're giving?"

"Two or three people. But my place is full of flowers and as pretty as a garden. Too bad you can't see it."

"Couldn't I come to your garden-party?" he asked humbly.

"You mean just to see my garden for a moment?"

"Yes; let me come around for a moment, anyway--if you're dressed. Are you?"

"Certainly I'm dressed. Did you think it was to be a garden-of-Eden party?"

Her gay, mischievous laughter came distinctly to him over the wire.

Then her mood changed abruptly:

"You funny boy," she said, "don't you understand that I want you to come?"

"You enchanting girl!" he exclaimed. "Do you really mean it?"

"Of course! And if you come at once we'll have nearly an hour together before anybody arrives."

She had that sweet, unguarded way with her at moments, and it always sent a faint shock of surprise and delight through him.

Her smiling maid admitted him and took his hat, coat and stick as though accustomed to these particular articles.

Palla was alone in the living-room when he was announced, and as soon as the maid disappeared she gave him both hands in swift welcome--an impulsive, unconsidered greeting entirely new to them both.

"You didn't mind my tormenting you. Did you, Jim? I was so happy that you did call me up, after all. Because you know you _did_ tell me yesterday that you were going to the opera to-night. But all the same, when the 'phone rang, somehow I knew it was you--I knew it--somehow----"

She loosened one hand from his and swung him with the other toward the piano: "Do you like my flower garden? Isn't the room attractive?"

"Charming," he said. "And you are distractingly pretty to-night!"

"In this dull, black gown? But, _merci_, anyway! See how effective your roses are!--the ones you sent yesterday and the day before!

They're all opening. And I went out and bought a lot more, and all that fluffy green camouflage----"

She withdrew her other hand from his without embarra.s.sment and went over to rearrange a sheaf of deep red carnations, spreading the cl.u.s.tered stems to wider circ.u.mference.

"What is this party you're giving, anyway?" he asked, following her across the room and leaning beside her on the piano, where she still remained very busily engaged with her decorations.

"An impromptu party," she exclaimed. "I was shopping this morning--in fact I was buying pots and pans for the cook--when somebody spoke to me. And I recognised a university student whom I had known in Petrograd after the first revolution--Marya Lanois, her name is----"

She moved aside and began to fuss with a huge bowl of crimson roses, loosening the blossoms, freeing the foliage, and talking happily all the while:

"Marya Lanois," she repeated, "--an interesting girl. And with her was a man I had met--a pianist--Vanya Tchernov. They told me that another friend of mine--a girl named Ilse Westgard--is now living in New York.

They couldn't dine with me, but they're coming to supper. So I also called up Ilse Westgard, she's coming, too;--and I also asked your friend, Mr. Estridge. So you see, Monsieur, we shall have a little music and much valuable conversation, and then I shall give them some supper----"

She stepped back from the piano, surveyed her handiwork critically, then looked around at him for his opinion.

"Fine," he said. "How jolly your new house is"--glancing about the room at the few well chosen pieces of antique furniture, the harmonious hangings and comfortably upholstered modern pieces.

"It really is beginning to be livable; isn't it, Jim?" she ventured.

"Of course there are many things yet to buy----"

They leisurely made the tour of the white-panelled room, looking with approval at the delicate Georgian furniture; the mezzotints; the damask curtains of that beautiful red which has rose-tints in it, too; the charming old French clock and its lovely gilded garniture; the deep-toned ash-grey carpet under foot.

Before the mantel, with its wood fire blazing, they paused.

"It's so enchantingly homelike," she exclaimed. "I already love it all. When I come in from shopping I just stand here with my hat and furs on, and gaze about and adore everything!"

"Do you adore me, too?" he asked, laughing at her warmth. "You see I'm becoming one of your fixtures here, also."

In her brown eyes the familiar irresponsible gaiety began to glimmer:

"I do adore you," she said, "but I've no business to."