It was then five o’clock.

How nervous I felt as I sent up my name to his chamber.  Oh, dear Dairy, to think that it was but five hours ago that I sat and waited, while people who guessed not the inner trepadation of my heart past and repast, and glansed at me and at Leila’s pink hat above.

At last he came.  My heart beat thunderously, as he aproached, strideing along in that familiar walk, swinging his strong and tender arms.  And I!  I beheld him coming and could think of not a word to say.

“Well!” he said, pausing in front of me.  “I knew I was going to be lucky today.  Friday is my best day.”

“I was born on Friday,” I said.  I could think of nothing else.

“Didn’t I say it was my lucky day?  But you mustn’t sit here.  What do you say to a cup of tea in the restarant?”

How grown up and like a debutante I felt, dear Dairy, going to have tea as if I had it every day at School, with a handsome actor across!  Although somwhat uneasy also, owing to the posibility of the Familey coming in.  But it did not and I had a truly happy hour, not at all spoiled by looking out the window and seeing Jane going by, with her eyes popping out, and walking very slowly so I would invite her to come in.

Which I did not.

Dear Dairy, he will do it.  At first he did not understand, and looked astounded.  But when I told him of Carter being in the advertizing busness, and father owning a large mill, and that there would be reporters and so on, he became thoughtfull.

“It’s realy incredably clever,” he said.  “And if it’s pulled off right it ought to be a Stampede.  But I’d like to see Mr. Brooks.  We can’t have it fail, you know.”  He leaned over the table.  “It’s straight goods, is it, Miss er—­Barbara?  There’s nothing foney about it?”

“Foney!” I said, drawing back.  “Certainly not.”

He kept on leaning over the table.

“I wonder,” he said, “what makes you so interested in the Play?”

Oh, Dairy, Dairy!

And just then I looked up, and the Adventuress was staring in the door at me with the meanest look on her face.

I draw a Veil over the remainder of our happy hour.  Suffice it to say that he considers me exactly the tipe he finds most atractive, and that he does not consider my noze to short.  We had a long dispute about this.  He thinks I am wrong and says I am not an acquiline tipe.  He says I am romantic and of a loving disposition.  Also somwhat reckless, and he gave me good advice about doing what my Familey consider for my good, at least until I come out.

But our talk was all to short, for a fat man with three rings on came in, and sat down with us, and ordered a whiskey and soda.  My blood turned cold, for fear some one I knew would come in and see me sitting there in a drinking party.

And my blood was right to turn cold.  For, just as he had told the manager about the arangement I had made, and the manager said “Bully” and raised his glass to drink to me I looked across and there was mother’s aunt, old Susan Paget, sitting near, with the most awfull face I ever saw!