“Poor dear, of course you do.  I’ll tell you what to do.  I’ve got a nice big bathroom in there.  Go in and take a cold one.”  Then—­“You’ve grown inches, Rush, since you went away but I believe you could still get into a suit of my pajamas—­plain ones, not ruffly.  Anyhow, I’ve another big bathrobe like this that you could roll up in.  You’ll be just in time for the coffee.  You won’t know yourself by then.”

“I wish I didn’t,” he said morosely.

There wasn’t much good arguing with that mood, she knew, so she waited a little.

“Is this where you live?” he asked.  “You brought me here last night?”

“You brought me,” she amended.

He frowned over that but didn’t take it in.  The next moment though he sat up suddenly and after a struggle with the giddiness this movement caused, asked, “Who else is here?  Where’s the other girl that lives with you?”

“She’s not here now,” Mary said.  “We are all by ourselves.”

He rose unsteadily to his feet.  “I’ve got to get out of here quick.  If anybody came in ...”

“Rush, dearest!” she entreated.  “Don’t be silly.  Lie down again—­Well, then take that easy chair.  Nobody will come in.”  Then over his air of resolute remorse she cried, on the edge of tears herself, “Oh, please don’t be so unhappy.  Do let’s settle down and be comfy together.  I don’t have to go to the office to-day.  My job’s just about played out.  But nobody ever comes here to see me in the daytime.  And it wouldn’t matter if they did.”

But this change of attitude was clearly beyond him.  “I’ll have to ask you to tell me what happened last night.  You were there at that restaurant with friends of yours I suppose.  I must have disgraced you up to the hilt with them.  I should think you’d hate the sight of me.”

“You didn’t disgrace me at all,” she contradicted, and now the tears did came into her eyes.  “They knew I was expecting you and I told Mr. Baldwin who you were.  You came up in the nicest way and asked me to dance and when we went away together there wasn’t a thing—­about you—­that they could see.  I was on the point of tears myself because my plan had gone wrong.  But that would have seemed natural enough to them.”

He frowned at the name Baldwin, as if he were trying to recover a memory.  Now he felt vaguely in his trousers pocket and pulled out the crumpled visiting card that had her note scribbled on the back of it.  “You haven’t told me yet what happened,” he said.

“Oh, I was afraid you wouldn’t remember.”  She looked away from him as she said it and a little unwonted color crept into her cheeks.

“Afraid?” he questioned.