Virginia smiled.  With quiet dignity she said: 

“Very well—­we understand—­we will wait.”

Oku put out his hand for their hats and coats.

“Give me hats, please—­excuse, please.”

While the girls divested themselves of their outer garments the little butler chatted on in his quaint pigeon English: 

“Mr. Stafford—­he say to ask if you will have cocktail.”

Jimmie had carelessly strolled over to a table and picked up a book.  On hearing the invitation to liquid refreshments he closed the volume with a bang and turned round like a flash: 

“I will,” he exclaimed quickly.

A ludicrous expression of renewed interest suddenly replaced the shipping clerk’s rather disgusted expression.  Anything was welcome which promised to relieve the monotony of this society stunt, as he had termed Mr. Stafford’s invitation.  It was against his will that he had come at all.  Why should he do this millionaire the honor of dining with him?  What was he to him?  Because he was rich?  Well, he guessed not.  If he had consented at Fanny’s urgent pleadings, it was because his fiancee had told him it would help Virginia.  Mr. Stafford, Fanny said, was simply crazy about her and might propose to her any day.  After all, it could do no harm to have a millionaire in the family.  Besides, he was a big railroad man.  He might help him to do something with his “no stop” idea.  But he must be on his guard and not allow sentiment to interfere with business.  This Stafford must not think that because he invited him to dinner and might one day become his brother-in-law that he was going to get the “no-stop” invention cheap.  No, siree—­no one should get the best of him!

Oku had approached Virginia, who, having crossed the room, was gazing through the casement windows at the splendid view.  Salaaming low, he said: 

“Miss—­will take cocktail?”

“No—­thank you,” she answered with a smile.

The butler turned to Fanny, who looked significantly at Jimmie as if desirous of consulting his wishes in so important a matter.

“Sure!” he said in an aside not intended to reach the butler’s ears.

But Oku was nothing if not discreet.  He never allowed himself to hear anything.  When Fanny nodded he merely inquired politely: 

“What kind—­please?”

Jimmie grinned and licked his lips.  Turning to his future wife he asked: 

“What do you like?”

“What kind do you?” she laughed, anxious to keep him in good humor.

“Martini suits me all right.”

Oku bowed to the ground.

“Yes, miss.  Two Martini cocktails.  Excuse, please!  Excuse!”

With another profound salaam and retreating backwards towards the door as if in the presence of royalty, the Japanese butler made an impressive exit.

Jimmie had watched Oku’s every movement with the greatest amusement.  When he was out of earshot he remarked with a chuckle: