“Why?”

“Oh, because I asked him in to supper.”

“You asked Mr. Geoffrey—­here?” she gasped.

“Surest thing you know.  Y’ see, I thought you was staying over at Englewood.”

“Oh, Arthur!” she sighed.  “And there are only two wretched little chops!  And not a bit of butter!  And the rent’s due to-morrow—­I can’t spare a cent—­and me in this shabby old gown! and you broke the best teapot.”

“Sounds kind of gay an’ festive!” sighed Spike ruefully.  “But don’t worry about the eats, dear.  Geoff won’t mind, an’ he’ll never notice your old gown—­”

“He seems to notice a great deal,” said Hermione doubtfully as she hastily untied the big apron, “and besides—­oh, gracious goodness!” she cried, as a knock sounded at the front door, “you must let him in, Arthur—­and don’t let him know I’m changing my gown!” Saying which, she vanished into her bedroom while Spike hastened to the door.

“Why—­hello, Tony!” he exclaimed, “what’s wrong now?”

“My lil Pietro,” cried the Italian excitedly, “he no sleep—­he burn-a burn-a all-a da time,—­all-a da time cry!  You tell-a you sis—­she come-a like-a da las’ time den he no cry-a—­” But here Tony broke off to flourish his hat and bow gracefully as he caught sight of Hermione herself.  “Ah, Signorina!” he cried, “my lil Pietro he seeck.  You please-a come see my lil Pietro?  He flush-a he cry—­he all-a da fire! he burn-a, burn-a, like-a da fire!  You so good, so generosa—­you come see my lil Pietro?”

“Why, of course I will!” said Hermione in her calm, soft voice, “poor little mite—­is he feverish?”

“Si, si Signorina!” answered the anxious young father, “he burn-a, burn-a all-a da time!”

“Reach me the aconite, boy dear; yes, that’s it.”

“But what about supper, Hermy?” queried Spike wistfully.

“Oh, well—­finish laying the table; I’ll be back as soon as ever I can, dear.”

“Oh, Gee!” sighed Spike, as their footsteps died away down the stair, “she sure is keen on knowing how I met Geoff!  And if she ever finds out—­” Spike cowered down into a chair and clasping his head between his hands sat thus a long while, staring moodily at the floor, striving for a way out of the difficulty.  He was yet wrestling with this knotty problem when he heard muffled knocks at the front door, which, being opened, disclosed the object of his thoughts.

“Why, Geoff,” he cried gladly, “I thought you wasn’t coming.  Say, what you got there?” he enquired, for Ravenslee’s arms were filled with sundry packages and parcels.

“Come and see!” said Ravenslee mysteriously.  “Catch this one before I drop it!”

“Why—­hello,” said Spike, sniffing at the package in question as he led the way into the parlour, “it smells good!  It sniffs like—­Holy Gee, it’s a roast turkey!  And—­oh, say, Geoff—­she’s a beaut!”