Vee nudges me to quit the gawp act.

“Gosh!” I whispers.  “Who’d have thought it?”

“S-s-s-sh!” says Vee.  “We don’t want her to suspect a thing.”

I don’t know whether she did or not, but when we’re towed into the dinin’-room she spots the table decorations right off, and whirls on me.

“Here’s plotting, young man,” says she.  “But if you will tell me how you discovered I was so fond of Louis Philippe roses I’ll forgive you.”

“Looks like I was a good guesser, don’t it?” says I.

“You’re good at something, anyway,” says Cousin Myra; “but—­but why five places?”

She’s noticed the extra plate and is glancin’ around inquirin’.

“Oh!” says I, offhand, “odd numbers for luck, so I took a chance on askin’ in an old friend of yours.  He ought to be in the cloak-room by now.  I’ll go fetch him.”

You should have seen the look on her face, too, when I shows up with Professor Hinckley.  He’s a perfectly good highbrow, understand—­pointed face whiskers, shaggy forelock, wide black ribbon on his eyeglasses, and all—­sort of a mild-eyed, modest appearin’ gent, but kind of distinguished-lookin’, at that.  And you’d never guess how nervous he really was.

“Well, Myra?"’ says he, beamin’ friendly through his glasses.

“Lester!” she gasps.

They didn’t exactly go to a clinch, but they shook hands so long the waiter had to slide the caviar canape between ’em, and even after we got ‘em to sit down they couldn’t seem to break off gazin’ at each other.  As a fond reunion it was a success from the first tap of the bell.  They went to it strong.

As for the Profess., he seemed to be knocked clear off his pins.  Honest, I don’t believe he knew whether he was eatin’ dinner or steerin’ an airship.  I caught him once tryin’ to butter an olive with a bread stick, and he sopped up a pink cocktail without even lookin’ at it.  The same thing happened to the one Vee pushed over near his absent-minded hand.  And the deeper he got into the dinner the livelier grew the twinkle in them mild eyes of his.

Cousin Myra, too, was mellowin’ fast.  The first time she let loose with a laugh, I near fell off my chair; but before long I got used to it.  Next thing I knew, she was smilin’ across at me real roguish, and beatin’ time with her finger-tips to the music.

“Ah, ha!” says she.  “More of your tricks.  I thought the ‘Nocturne’ was just an accident, but now the ’Blue Danube’—­that is your work, young man.  Or is it Verona’s!  Come now, what are you up to, you two over there?”

“Ask Torchy,” says Vee, shakin’ her head.

“Don’t you believe her,” says I.  “She’s the one that planned most of this.”

“But what is it?” demands Cousin Myra.  “What do you call it?”

“Why,” says I, grinnin’ more or less foolish, “we’re just givin’ a Myra day, that’s all.”

“Splendid!” says she.  “And the fact that I don’t in the least deserve it makes it seem all the nicer.  I suppose your being here, Lester, is part of the plot, too?”