“Well, here we are!” he exclaimed, as he pulled off his gauntlets.  “I guess I could get along with something to eat.  How about you?  They treat you as well here as any place I know of in New England.”

He assumed their lunching together at a public place as a matter of course to which there could not possibly be an objection, springing out of the car, removing the laprobe from her knees, and helping her to alight.  She laid the roses on the seat.

“Aren’t you going to bring them along?” he demanded.

“I’d rather not,” she said.  “Don’t you think they’ll be safe here?”

“Oh, I guess so,” he replied.  She was always surprising him; but her solicitation concerning them was a balm, and he found all such instinctive acts refreshing.

“Afraid of putting up too much of a front, are you?” he asked smilingly.

“I’d rather leave them here,” she replied.  As she walked beside Ditmar to the door she was excited, unwontedly self-conscious, painfully aware of inspection by the groups on the porch.  She had seen such people as these hurrying in automobiles through the ugliness of Faber Street in Hampton toward just such delectable spots as this village of Kingsbury—­people of that world of freedom and privilege from which she was excluded; Ditmar’s world.  He was at home here.  But she?  The delusion that she somehow had been miraculously snatched up into it was marred by their glances.  What were they thinking of her?  Her face was hot as she passed them and entered the hall, where more people were gathered.  But Ditmar’s complacency, his ease and self-confidence, his manner of owning the place, as it were, somewhat reassured her.  He went up to the desk, behind which, stood a burly, red-complexioned man who greeted him effusively, yet with the air of respect accorded the powerful.

“Hullo, Eddie,” said Ditmar.  “You’ve got a good crowd here to-day.  Any room for me?”

“Sure, Mr. Ditmar, we can always make room for you.  Well, I haven’t laid eyes on you for a dog’s age.  Only last Sunday Mr. Crane was here, and I was asking him where you’d been keeping yourself.”

“Why, I’ve been busy, Eddie.  I’ve landed the biggest order ever heard of in Hampton.  Some of us have to work, you know; all you’ve got to do is to loaf around this place and smoke cigars and rake in the money.”

The proprietor of the Kingsbury Tavern smiled indulgently at this persiflage.

“Let me present you to Miss Bumpus,” said Ditmar.  “This is my friend, Eddie Hale,” he added, for Janet’s benefit.  “And when you’ve eaten his dinner you’ll believe me when I say he’s got all the other hotel men beaten a mile.”

Janet smiled and flushed.  She had been aware of Mr. Hale’s discreet glance.

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Bumpus,” he said, with a somewhat elaborate bow.

“Eddie,” said Ditmar, “have you got a nice little table for us?”

“It’s a pity I didn’t know you was coming, but I’ll do my best,” declared Mr. Hale, opening the door in the counter.