“Well,” said the lady, “if you can show me those suits as well as Mr. Tuchman could, I suppose it really won’t make any difference.”

“I can show ’em to you better than Mr. Tuchman could,” Morris said; “and now so long as you are content to come downtown we won’t talk business no more till we get there.”

They had an excellent lunch at the Heatherbloom Inn, and many a hearty laugh from the lady testified to her appreciation of Morris’ naive conversation.  The hour passed pleasantly for Morris, too, since the lady’s unaffected simplicity set him entirely at his ease.  To be sure, she was neither young nor handsome, but she had all the charm that self-reliance and ability give to a woman.

“A good, smart, business head she’s got it,” Morris said to himself, “and I wish I could remember that name.”

Had he not feared that his companion might think it strange, he would have asked her name outright.  Once he called her Miss Aaronson, but the look of amazement with which she favored him effectually discouraged him from further experiment in that direction.  Thenceforth he called her “lady,” a title which made her smile and seemed to keep her in excellent humor.

At length they concluded their meal—­quite a modest repast and comparatively reasonable in price—­and as they rose to leave Morris looked toward the door and gasped involuntarily.  He could hardly believe his senses, for there blocking the entrance stood a familiar bearded figure.  It was Marcus Bramson—­the conservative, back-number Marcus Bramson—­and against him leaned a tall, stout person not quite as young as her clothes and wearing a large picture hat.  Obviously this was not Mrs. Bramson, and the blush with which Marcus Bramson recognized Morris only confirmed the latter’s suspicions.

Mr. Bramson murmured a few words to the youthfully-dressed person at his side, and she glared venomously at Morris, who precipitately followed his companion to the automobile.  Five minutes afterward he was chatting with the lady as they sped along Riverside Drive.

“Duluth must be a fine town,” he suggested.

“It is indeed,” the lady agreed.  “I have some relatives living there.”

“That should make it pleasant for you, lady,” Morris went on, and thereafter the conversation touched on relatives, whereupon Morris favored his companion with a few intimate details of his family life that caused her to laugh until she was completely out of breath.  To be sure, Morris could see nothing remarkably humorous about it himself, and when one or two anecdotes intended to be pathetic were received with tears of mirth rather than sympathy he felt somewhat annoyed.  Nevertheless, he hid his chagrin, and it was not long before the familiar sign of Wasserbauer’s Cafe and Restaurant warned Morris that they had reached their destination.  He assisted his companion to alight and ushered her into the show-room.