for his grandmother to rent out the third floor; but to a painter, and
a crazy painter--that seemed strange. And yet more strange was it for
her to be having dinner with the painter.

Larry knocked at the door. A big male voice within gave order:

"Be parlor-maid, Maggie, and see who's there."

The door opened and Larry half entered. Then he stopped, and in
surprise gazed at the flushed, gleaming Maggie, slender and supple in
the folds of the Spanish shawl.

"Why, Maggie!" he exclaimed, holding out his hand.

"Larry!"

She was thrillingly confused by his surprised admiration. For a moment
they stood gazing at each other, holding hands. The clothes given him
on leaving prison were of course atrocious, but in all else he
measured up to her dreams: lithe, well-built, handsome, a laugh ready
on his lips, and the very devil of daring in his smiling, gray-blue
eyes.

"How you have grown up, Maggie!" he said, still amazed.

"That's all I've had to do for two years," she returned.

"Come on in, Larry," said the Duchess.

Larry shut the door, bowed with light grace as he had to pass in front