"Yes. But as fast as I learn a new one, it's sold."

"That's all right," she answered. "The more you learn, the better.

Some day Mr. Farnsworth will call you in and turn you loose on your friends."

"You think so?"

"I know it, if you keep going. But you can't let up--not for one day."

"If I can only last through the summer," he reflected aloud. "Have you ever spent a summer in town?"

"Where else would I spend a summer?" she inquired.

"I like the mountains myself. Ever been to Fabyan House?"

She looked to see if he was joking. He was not. He had spent the last three summers very pleasantly in the White Mountains.

"No," she answered. "A ten-cent trolley trip is my limit."

"Where?"

"Anywhere I can find trees or water. You can get quite a trip right in Central Park, and it's good fun to watch the kiddies getting an airing."

There was a note in her voice that made him turn his head toward her.

The color sprang to her cheeks.

"It's time I was getting back," she announced as she rose. "This is Mr. Seagraves's busy day."

"But look here; I haven't finished my eclair!"

"Then you'd better devote the next five minutes to that," she advised.

She disappeared through the door, and in another second was blended with a thousand others.

Don drew out his memorandum book and made the following entry:--

"Visit Central Park some day and watch the kiddies."

CHAPTER XVII

ON THE WAY HOME

Frances wrote him enthusiastically from London. In her big, sprawling handwriting the letter covered eight pages. Toward the end she added:--

I miss you quite a lot, Don, dear, especially on foggy days. Please don't work too hard, and remember that I am, as always,

Your FRANCES.

Well, that was something to know--that she was always his, even in London. London was a long way from New York, and of course he could not expect her to go abroad and then spend all her time writing to him. He went up to the club after reading this, and wrote her a letter twenty pages long. It was a very sentimental letter, but it did him good. The next day he returned to the office decidedly refreshed. In fact, he put in one of the best weeks there since he had taken his position. When Sat.u.r.day came he was sorry that it was a half-holiday: he would have liked to work even through Sunday.

He left the office that day at a little before twelve, and stood on the corner waiting for Miss Winthrop. They had lunched together every day during the week; but he had not mentioned meeting her to-day, because he had come to the conclusion that the only successful way to do that was to capture her. So she came out quite jauntily and confidently, and almost ran into him as he raised his hat.

She glanced about uneasily.

"Please--we mustn't stand here."

"Then I'll walk a little way with you."

So he accompanied her to the Elevated station, and then up the steps, and as near as she could judge purposed entering the train with her.

He revealed no urgent business. He merely talked at random, as he had at lunch.

She allowed two trains to pa.s.s, and then said:--

"I must go home now."

"It seems to me you are always on the point of going home," he complained. "What do you do after you get there?"

"I have a great many things to do," she informed him.

"You have dinner?"

"Yes."

"Sometimes I have dinner too," he nodded. "Then what do you do?"

"I have a great many things to do," she repeated.

"I don't have anything to do after dinner," he said. "I just wander around until it's time to go to bed."

"That's a waste of time."

"I know it. It's just killing time until the next day."

She appeared interested.

"You have many friends?"

"They are all in London and Paris," he answered.

"You have relatives."

"No," he answered. "You see, I live all alone. Dad left me a house, but--well, he didn't leave any one in it except the servants."

"You live in a house all by yourself?"