“Then she threw herself down on the sofa and she sobbed—­I never heard a girl cry like that in all my life.  She shrieked, she was pretty nearly in hysterics, and I couldn’t get a word out of her.  When she was through at last, she was all limp and white.  She wouldn’t tell me anything.  She simply sat and looked at the stove.  Presently she got up to go.  I put my hands on her shoulders and I forced her back in the chair.

“‘You’ve got to tell me all about it, Stella,’ I insisted.

“And then of course I heard the whole story.  She’d got fired again.  These men are devils!”

“Don’t tell me more about it unless you like,” he begged sympathetically.  “Where is she now?”

“In the chorus of ‘Three Frivolous Maids.’  She comes in here regularly.”

“Sorry for herself?”

“Not she!  Last time I saw her she told me she wouldn’t go back into an office, or take on typewriting again, for anything in the world.  She was looking prettier than ever, too.  There’s a swell chap almost crazy about her.  Shouldn’t wonder if she hasn’t got an automobile.”

“Well, she answers our question one way, then,” he remarked thoughtfully.  “Tell me, Miss Grimes, is everything to eat in America as good as this fish?”

“Some cooking here,” she observed, looking rather regretfully at her empty plate.  “I told you things were all right.  There’s grilled chicken—­Maryland chicken—­coming, and green corn.”

“Have I got to eat the corn like that man opposite?” he asked anxiously.

“You can eat it how you like,” she answered.

“Watch me, if you want to.  I don’t care.  I ain’t tasted green corn since I can remember, and I’m going to enjoy it.”

“You don’t like your claret, I’m afraid,” he remarked.

She sipped it and set down the glass a little disparagingly.

“If you want to know what I would like,” she said, “it’s just a Martini cocktail.  We don’t drink wines over here as much as you folk, I guess.”

He ordered the cocktails at once.  Every now and then he watched her.  She ate delicately but with a healthy and unashamed appetite.  A little colour came into her cheeks as the room grew warmer, her lower lip became less uncompromising.  Suddenly she laid down her knife and fork.  Her eyes were agleam with interest.  She pulled at his sleeve.

“Say, that’s Stella!” she exclaimed excitedly.  “Look, she’s coming this way!  Don’t she look stunning!”

A girl, undeniably pretty, with dark, red-gold hair, wearing a long ermine coat and followed by a fashionably dressed young man, was making her way up the room.  She suddenly recognised Philip’s companion and came towards her with outstretched hand.

“If it isn’t Martha!” she cried.  “Isn’t this great!  Felix, this is Miss Grimes—­Martha Grimes, you know,” she added, calling to the young man who was accompanying her.  “You must remember—­why, what’s the matter with you, Felix?”