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Cecily presented him, and sank into her chair with a sigh, declaring that "introductions always befuddle me." Bill and Jock, from opposite sides, assisted her to shed her wrap, thereby revealing a tight little gown of coral velvet with a spatter of glistening beads across the bodice. "Don't tell me we're late," she implored. "What I mean is, not too late—you haven't done your act yet, have you?"

"No," said Yvonne, "not until eight."

"We had a flat tire," Cecily explained, "—of course. Bill is one of those people who always get flat tires. And then he couldn't find the jack——"

Bill interpolated meekly, "I'm one of those people who never can find the jack——"

"Absolutely!" nodded Cecily. "He is, really. Well, and so we stopped the next car that came along and there was a most vicious-looking man in it and I was petrified and put my rings in my shoe——"

She rattled on, and Jock listened, his eyes shifting from her face to her escort's and back again. He saw that Burnholme was infatuated with Cecily. His every glance at her gave it away, despite the labored unconcern with which he sought to keep it hidden. "He's trying to hide it from her, though, not from us," Jock sensed intuitively. "He isn't sure of her." Somehow this was a gratifying reflection. "Means she's handling him cleverly," he added, by way of explaining to himself just why he should approve.

They ordered four chicken dinners, and Jock from a pocket flask mixed three highballs, for Burnholme, Yvonne and himself.

"Am I a step-child?" complained Cecily. "Where's mine?"

"You don't get one," Jock announced. "After last night——"

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