Eloise looked at him approvingly.  Every detail of his attire satisfied her fastidious sense.  If he had worn a diamond ring or a conspicuous tie, he might not have occupied his present proud position.  His unfailing good taste was a great comfort to her.

“How long can you stay?” she inquired.

“Nice question,” he laughed, “to ask an eager lover who has just come.  Sounds a good deal like ‘Here’s-your-hat-what’s-your-hurry?’ Before I knew you, I used to go to see a girl sometimes who always said, at ten o’clock:  ‘I’m so glad you came.  When can you come again?’ The first time she did it I told her I couldn’t come again until I had gone away this time.”

“And afterward?”

[Sidenote:  Forgetting the Clock]

“I kept going away earlier and earlier, and finally it was so much earlier that I went before I had come.  If I can’t make a girl forget the clock, I have no call to waste my valuable time on her, have I?”

Assuming a frown with difficulty, Miss Wynne consulted her watch.  “Why, it’s only half-past eleven,” she exclaimed; “I thought it was much later.”

“You darling,” said the man, irrelevantly.  “What are you reading?” Before she could stop him, he had picked up the book and nearly choked in a burst of unseemly merriment.

“Upon my word,” he said, when he could speak.  “A cook book!  A classmate of mine used to indulge himself in floral catalogues when he wanted to rest his mind with light literature, but I never heard of a cook book as among the ‘books for Summer reading’ that the booksellers advertise.”

“Why not?” retorted Eloise, quickly.

“No real reason.  Lots of worse things are printed and sold by thousands, but, someway, I can’t seem to reconcile you—­and your glorious voice—­with a cook-book.”

“Allan Conrad,” said Miss Wynne, with affected sternness, “if you hadn’t studied medicine, would you be practising it now?”

“No,” admitted Allan; “not with the laws as they are in this State.”

“If I had no voice and had never studied music, would I be singing at concerts?”

“Not twice.”

“If a girl had never seen a typewriter and didn’t know the first thing about shorthand, would she apply for a position as a stenographer?”

“They do,” said Allan, gloomily.

[Sidenote:  Preparation]

“Don’t dissemble, please.  My point is simply this:  If every other occupation in the world demands some previous preparation, why shouldn’t a girl know something about housekeeping and homemaking before she undertakes it?”

“But, my dear, you’re not going to cook.”

“I am if I want to,” announced Eloise, with authority.  “And, anyhow, I’m going to know.  Do you think I’m going to let some peripatetic, untrained immigrant manage my house for me?  I guess not.”

“But cooking isn’t theory,” he ventured, picking up the note-book; “it’s practice.  What good is all this going to do you when you have no stove?”