up her end of the conversation and forget about the pair seated
opposite her.

Captain Charles Miller had just finished helping himself to an ice when,
from the tail of his eye, he saw Kathleen quickly palm his place card.

"Let us make it an exchange," he said, and reaching across her plate,
picked up the pretty hand-painted Japanese card bearing her name, and
slipped it inside the pocket of his white vest.

For the first time that evening there was color in Kathleen's cheeks.

"You have not lost your--"

"Courage?"

"Effrontery," she finished. "I cannot see that the years have brought
much change."

"To you, most certainly not," and there was no mistaking the admiration
in his eyes.

"I object to personalities." She paused. "And particularly on slight
acquaintance."

Miller bowed. "It is my loss that we have not met before," and he did not
miss the look of relief that lighted her eyes for the fraction of a
second. Swiftly he changed the subject. "Who is the man glaring at us
from the end of the table?"