"Come on, you two. Have you forgotten the formula, Jeffard? I'll prompt you, and you can say it over after me. 'Miss Elliott, may I have the pleasure of seeing you'—"
Myra pounced upon the mocker and dragged him away; and Constance cut in swiftly.
"You mustn't mind what Dick says. He calls going to church 'dissipation,' and he is never quite responsible afterward. Won't you go home with us, Mr. Jeffard?"
Jeffard murmured something about a hotel and an appointment, but he had been waiting only for an intimation that he was forgiven. So they went on together, walking briskly, as the frosty night demanded, but they were not able to overtake the twain in advance. For a time they were both tongue-tied, and for a wonder it was the man who first rose superior to the entanglements of memory. But he was careful to choose the safest of commonplaces for a topic. They were ascending Capitol Hill, and by way of a beginning he said, "Are you living in this part of the city now?"
"Yes; in the old place on Colfax. Dick ran across the owner in California last autumn and bought it."
"It is a very pleasant place," Jeffard ventured, still determined to keep on ground of the safest.
"Do you know it?" she said, quickly.
"Oh, yes;—er—that is, I know where it is. I passed it one morning a long time ago."
"While we were living there?"
"Yes."