"He told the maid it did not matter. I saw him as he walked away and he looked very much a man. He said he would come to-morrow if he did not find you down town to-night. Don't you recognize him from the description?"
"Not at all. Can't imagine who he is."
"Monty," she said, after a moment's painful reflection, "he—he couldn't have been a—"
"I know what you mean. An officer sent up to attach my belongings or something of the sort. No, dearest; I give you my word of honor I do not owe a dollar in the world." Then he recalled his peculiar indebtedness to Bragdon and Gardner. "Except one or two very small personal obligations," he added, hastily. "Don't worry about it, dear, we are out for a good time and we must make the most of it. First, we drive through the Park, then we dine at Sherry's."
"But we must dress for that, dear," she cried. "And the chaperon?"
He turned very red when she spoke of dressing. "I'm ashamed to confess it, Peggy, but I have no other clothes than these I'm wearing now. Don't look so hurt, dear—I'm going to leave an order for new evening clothes to-morrow—if I have the time. And about the chaperon. People won't be talking before to-morrow and by that time—"
"No, Monty, Sherry's is out of the question. We can't go there," she said, decisively.
"Oh, Peggy! That spoils everything," he cried, in deep disappointment.
"It isn't fair to me, Monty. Everybody would know us, and every tongue would wag. They would say, 'There are Monty Brewster and Margaret Gray. Spending his last few dollars on her.' You wouldn't have them think that?"
He saw the justice in her protest. "A quiet little dinner in some out of the way place would be joyous," she added, persuasively.