"Possibly I had good reason." Kathleen's color rose. "Where, pray, did
you pick him up?"

"Tut, tut! Don't forget you are talking to a woman nearly old enough to
be your mother." But Miss Kiametia's kind heart softened as she saw
Kathleen felt her words. "There, dearie, don't mind an old crosspatch.
Captain Miller was introduced to me by Senator Foster. You can see with
half an eye that Captain Miller is a gentleman born and bred. All ready?
Then I'll run back to my other guests. Come and see me Sunday," and with
a friendly wave of her hand, Miss Kiametia returned to the dining-room
where the dancers had adjourned for supper.

Kathleen found her limousine waiting at the entrance, and bidding the
club attendant good-night she stepped inside the car, but as her
chauffeur started to close the door he was pushed to one side.

"Fa-sher tele-telephoned I was to shee you home," announced Spencer,
striving to enunciate clearly. His haste and unsteady gait precipitated
him almost on top of the girl as he endeavored to seat himself by her
side. "D-don't get scared," placing a moist hand on her wrist. "Fa-sher's
orders. Ask H-Henry."

The chauffeur touched his cap. "Mr. Whitney did telephone me to bring
Mr. Spencer back with you, Miss Kathleen," he volunteered, and
without waiting for further orders he banged to the door and climbed
into his seat.

With an indignant exclamation Kathleen leaned over, seized the
speaking-tube and whistled through it. But apparently the roar of the