“Are you so sure that you haven’t a vocation, Georgie?” she asked gently.

“Want to go to a bum show at the ‘Central’ to-night?” Billy Oliver inquired of Susan in an aside.  “Bartlett’s sister is leading lady, and he’s handing passes out to everyone.”

“Always!” trilled Susan, and at last she had a chance to add, “Wait until I tell you what fun I’ve been having!”

She told him when they were on the car, and he was properly interested, but Susan felt that the tea episode somehow fell flat; had no significance for William.

“Crime he didn’t take you to the University Club,” said Billy, “they say it’s a keen club.”

Susan, smiling over happy memories, did not contradict him.

The evening, in spite of the “bum” show, proved a great success, and the two afterwards went to Zinkand’s for sardine sandwiches and domestic ginger-ale.  This modest order was popular with them because of the moderateness of its cost.

“But, Bill,” said Susan to-night, “wouldn’t you like to order once without reading the price first and then looking back to see what it was?  Do you remember the night we nearly fainted with joy when we found a ten cent dish at Tech’s, and then discovered that it was Chili Sauce!”

They both laughed, Susan giving her usual little bounce of joy as she settled into her seat, and the orchestra began a spirited selection.  “Look there, Bill, what are those people getting?” she asked.

“It’s terrapin,” said William, and Susan looked it up on the menu.

“Terrapin Parnasse, one-fifty,” read Susan, “for seven of them,—­ Gee!  Gracious!” “Gracious” followed, because Susan had made up her mind not to say “Gee” any more.

“His little supper will stand him in about fifteen dollars,” estimated Billy, with deep interest.  “He’s ordering champagne,—­ it’ll stand him in thirty.  Gosh!”

“What would you order if you could, Bill?” Susan asked.  It was all part of their usual program.

“Planked steak,” answered Billy, readily.

“Planked steak,” Susan hunted for it, “would it be three dollars?” she asked, awed.

“That’s it.”

“I’d have breast of hen pheasant with Virginia ham,” Susan decided.  A moment later her roving eye rested on a group at a nearby table, and, with the pleased color rushing into her race, she bowed to one of the members of the party.

“That’s Miss Emily Saunders,” said Susan, in a low voice.  “Don’t look now—­now you can look.  Isn’t she sweet?”

Miss Saunders, beautifully gowned, was sitting with an old man, an elderly woman, a handsome, very stout woman of perhaps forty, and a very young man.  She was a pale, rather heavy girl, with prominent eyes and smooth skin.  Susan thought her very aristocratic looking.

“Me for the fat one,” said Billy simply.  “Who’s she?”

“I don’t know.  Don’t let them see us looking, Bill!” Susan brought her gaze suddenly back to her own table, and began a conversation.