A PRIVATE DINING ROOM.

Saturday evening was dull enough, being only brightened by a pencilled note from Miss May, reading simply, "Money received. Will see you Tuesday." I went over to the Lyceum Theatre to a play called "The Tree of Knowledge," which I now believe one of the brightest things produced on the American stage in years, though I was too full of other thoughts to appreciate it at the time.

It was an attempt to shift the burden of blame that has rested in all fiction on the shoulders of the man, to that of the woman, and was so far rather welcome to me. We are a bad lot, as a rule, I am afraid, but some allowance should be made for a case like the one in the play, where a well intentioned young fellow is used as a football by a girl who does not care if his life is ruined, so long as she accomplishes her designs.

I remember being somewhat surprised at the apparent approval of the fine audience, but that may have been due in a measure to the delightful acting of the various parts. I had not been to the Lyceum for a long time and did not remember to have seen the "wronged young man" before, but he made a most favorable impression on me as more natural and less stagey than the average. The "villain,"—the masculine one—was an excellent actor, also. As for the "wicked" woman, I thought, if Marjorie failed me, I would give her an invitation to spend the rest of the winter in the Caribbean.

Sunday was weariness itself. I poured over the newspapers, took a walk, managed to get a short nap, for I was tired, ate my lunch, and then, to fill up the time, wrote a letter to Miss Brazier, in defense of myself from the severe attack that unknown young woman had made. It was a silly proceeding, but I liked to write about Marjorie, even to one wholly unknown, and this is what I said, as near as I can remember it:

It didn't seem too funny, when I read it over, as I thought it would, but I sent it to East Sixteenth Street by a messenger that I summoned, telling him to bring an answer, if there was any, and to return for his pay, if there was none. He came back in half an hour, saying that a boy at the house took the letter up stairs, presumably to Miss B., and returned in a few minutes stating that she would reply by mail. As this exhausted all the fun I could expect out of that matter for the day, I went over to the Club and lounged away the afternoon.

It was nine o'clock and I had only been at home for a few minutes when a note came from Statia Barton. It was written in a very cool strain, but its contents were unexpectedly agreeable, for all that. Statia said she was afraid she had been a little too severe, and that, as it distressed Tom very much to have a general falling out, she had made it up with him. She had nothing to take back in what she had said relating to a certain matter, (what woman ever took back anything?) but was willing to admit that it was, really, my personal affair and that she had no right to control my conduct. She believed it best, on the whole, that we should see each other as little as possible before I went away, but she did not wish, on reflection, to make trouble between her brother and his friend. If Tom wanted me to come to spend an evening with him, she hoped I would do it, and she promised to keep out of my way.

It was a queer mixture, take it altogether, but I was very glad to receive it. The calming effect on my general condition was such that when I went to bed, I slept for nearly seven hours without interruption, something I had not done for the previous fortnight.

Monday, on account of New Years, was as dull as Sunday. When I awoke with the exultant knowledge that it was at last Tuesday morning, I sprang from bed joyfully. Filling my tub with water as it ran from the street pipe, I plunged into its icy depths. Rising again I repeated the operation half a dozen times, until the effect on my entire body was of a healthy glow, and then proceeded to dress with care. I was long in selecting a necktie, for one thing, and tried three pairs of cuff-links before I was content. My coffee was barely tasted, and the newspapers were scanned as if in a dream.

All the time, mind you, I was trying my best to obey the injunction of Dr. Chambers to avoid the least excitement. I persuaded myself that I was simply happy and that no injurious effect could be apprehended from a merely contented frame of mind. I did not stop to think that I was pursuing a short road to the nervous prostration from which I had emerged, and which had its origin in the same lack of control I was exhibiting.

Tom Barton called about eight o'clock and, as he entered the room, came straight to me with his right hand extended. I took it heartily in mine, glad that the chasm between us was bridged at last.

"Dear old fellow," he said, with strong feeling, "forgive me for anything disagreeable I said, the other day. I feel now that I misjudged you. Let us end that matter and when you come to my house this evening, tell me exactly what route you are going to take, so I can arrange where to write you."

I promised to come if I could, and if that was impossible, to send a message to account for my absence. I told him I had bought a set of small maps which would show my route perfectly and that I hoped for frequent communications with him. Neither of us said anything about Statia, for I think he felt as I did that we should get along better without bringing in her name. He was obliged to leave after a brief call. As soon as he was out of sight I donned my out-door garments and proceeded by round-about stages toward Miss May's residence.

The hands of my watch pointed to ten exactly, when I rang her bell. It is considered a virtue, I believe, to be prompt at an appointment. The woman who attended the door dampened my ardor somewhat, however, by informing me that Miss May had not yet returned. She suggested that I go at once to the lady's room and make myself comfortable till she came, which must be very soon.

I walked slowly up the stairs, which seemed longer than ever, oppressed with a new series of doubts. Perhaps she would not come at all. Perhaps she had taken my three hundred dollars and fled to parts unknown. Perhaps—oh! the ugly things that came into my head between the lower hall and the door of that empty room.

I turned the knob and entered. Somehow the sight of the things that belonged to her began to mollify me. There was the chair in which she had been seated when I saw her last—happy chair! There was the dressing table, the brush and comb she used, the glass into which she had looked with her beautiful blue-gray eyes. Yes, and masquerading as a cabinet, yet deceiving no one for a second, was the folding bed that had often received her lovely form, with her head pillowed in happy slumber.

It was something to be in the room she occupied, to see the furniture she used.

I seated myself in her chair—the one I had seen her in—but almost instantly rose and walked about. My nerves were too much on edge to permit me to remain long without motion of some kind. At the end of half an hour I began to grow incensed again. She had made the appointment for ten o'clock. She knew from previous experience that I would keep it to the moment. Trains from the suburbs ran frequently enough. Did she consider me merely a puppet, to be played with?

Between half-past ten and eleven I was a hundred times on the point of descending the stairs and leaving the house, ending the whole affair.

But I didn't.

She came about ten minutes past eleven, with many expressions of regret at having kept me waiting. The timepiece at the house of her friend had broken its mainspring, or something of the sort, and with the carelessness of a woman she had forgotten to wind her watch the evening before. The family were all deceived by the fact that the sky was cloudy. When she reached her station the train had just gone and she was obliged to wait three-quarters of an hour for another. As soon as she alighted in New York, she took a cab and bade the driver hasten. Had I been waiting very long?

I did not know, at that instant, whether I had been a minute or a week, and I did not care. It was enough that I was again in her presence—that she had actually arrived. I begged her to say nothing more about it.

"I have kept the cab," she said, looking me full in the face, "thinking you might be kind enough to go with me to the shops and help me pick out my things. If it isn't asking too much—"

I assured her it would give me the greatest pleasure to accept the invitation and that I had no engagement so important as helping her to get ready for our journey. With a smile, she took off her hat and arranged her hair at the mirror, with a few passes of the brush and comb. Then she put it on again and said she was quite ready.

"Drive to Altman's," she said to the cabman, as she stepped inside the vehicle.

We were together, side by side. Had we been on the way to the steamer nothing could have exceeded my delight. These preliminaries all tended in that direction, however, and I was fain to curb my haste and content myself with the present.

"I think you ought to see what it costs to dress a young woman who is going to masquerade as the cousin of a gentleman of means," said Miss May, as we turned the corner. "I want you to decide on each article, since the expense is to come out of your pocket. I must say another thing also, at this time. I shall not consider as my own anything I need to buy. I am merely in the position of an actress whose wardrobe is to be provided by her manager. Whenever our engagement terminates I will return every article to you in as good shape as possible."

I was staggered by the suggestion, as well as impressed by the sentiment that led her to make it.

"What could I do with a lot of gowns—and—lingerie?" I inquired, helplessly. "They would be a veritable drug on my hands."

"They could be altered," she said, thoughtfully. "I shall be very careful of them."

"Altered!" I cried. "For whom?"

"For the next typewriter you may happen to engage."

I laughed to conceal the disagreeable feeling which the thought gave me.

"As a joke that is stupendous," I said, "but, if you don't mind, I would rather you would be funny on some other subject."

She relapsed into silence, something after the manner of a child who has been chidden, which did not add to my ease. I had no idea of scolding her. Luckily we were soon at Altman's.

I had come provided with plenty of money that time. The cash she had brought was exhausted when we left this place and we did not seem to have got much for it, either. A milliner was next visited, where the price of the few articles purchased was forgotten in my admiration of the charming appearance Marjorie made in her new headgear. Then we drove to another establishment, where she was obliged to hide herself from view for three-quarters of an hour, with a bill of eighty-five dollars as the result. She explained that she had got nothing she could possibly avoid, when it was considered that we might be several weeks at a time without a laundress, and I said the only fear I had was that she would buy too little.

A boot shop came next in order, where I had a jealous pang as one of the salesmen fitted her with various articles in his stock, all suitable for a warm climate, at a total cost of forty dollars. And then we drove about, from glove shop to perfumer's, from umbrella maker to fan dealer, from this to that, and the hands on my watch showed that it was nearly five o'clock.

"I think that is about all for to-day," said Miss May, drawing a long breath. "You must be glad it's over."

"Not at all," I replied. "Isn't it about time, though, that we had something in the way of refreshment?" (She had declined several offers to lunch during the preceding five hours.) "Mayn't I tell the driver now to take us to a restaurant?"

She consented, after a little thought, and also said she would leave the place to me. When I suggested the Hotel Martin, she thought a little longer, and then surprised me with a request that I would get a private room.

"Impossible," I said, when I could catch my breath. "They will assign no party of two to a room alone."

She blushed, which was not surprising. I had put her in the position of wishing to break a puritanic rule of which she had never heard.

I mentioned several other places, and we finally agreed on one some distance up-town, at which I told her the regulation against a single couple dining alone did not apply. She was rather tired and leaned back in the carriage in a manner that showed it. I studied her face as much as I could without appearing to stare, but it was wholly expressionless.

"You are very good to me," she said, after a long pause.

"And you are very kind to me," I answered.

"What a lot of money we have spent to-day," she added. "Aren't you sorry yet?"

"No," I answered, smiling. "Not yet."

"I shall need almost nothing more," she said, "to appear in a garb that will not disgrace you. Nothing, but a little jewelry, I think."

I said we would go to-morrow and attend to that, or she could go alone if she preferred, and send the bills to me.

"It must be lovely to have all the money one wants," she remarked, dreamily. "To order whatever you please without stopping to see if you can afford it."

"Yes," I assented.

"You can do that?" said Miss May, putting one of her gloved hands on my arm.

"Within a reasonable limit. My wants are seldom extravagant."

"Why," she asked, slowly, "is the world arranged so unevenly? Why are some provided with all they want, and more, while others have to study each item of actual necessity?"

"That is a deep question, that I would not like to settle in my present state of hunger," I replied, at which she smiled and sat up in the carriage. "We are luckily near the end of our route. I think I had best dismiss the cab and get another one when we leave."

She agreed and then asked if I had any objection to her donning a veil. It was all right, of course—dining in a private room with her employer—but it might not seem so to a casual passer, who would possibly recognize her face at some future period. A woman had to be so particular.

I cut her explanations short by saying that I did not object to the idea, but quite approved of it; at which she put on the veil, which to my consternation was blue and quite opaque. I did not wish to let any difference of opinion come between us, but I reflected that if one of my friends saw me, with a woman veiled like that, his conclusions would be anything but pleasing. There is such a thing as going too far.

We were shown to a nice little room, where the waiter came near getting himself into trouble by informing me with needless severity that it was not permitted to lock the door.

Miss May did not seem to hear what he said. She was removing her blue veil at a little glass that hung on the wall.

When she took the chair opposite to me and accepted the menu at my hands, she looked so charming that I had to put a veritable Westinghouse brake on my arms.