"That suits me," she said. "Can you do it to-morrow?"
"For heaven's sake, madam, I—are you in earnest?"
"Absolutely. I want to have it done right away. You see, I do a good deal of dancing, and—now, listen!" She leaned farther across the table, a serious little line appearing between her brows. "I want you to do it because I've always heard that you are one of the most earnest, capable and ambitious young men in the business. I'd sooner trust you than any one else, Dr. Thorpe. It has to be done by some one, so if I'm willing to take a chance with you, why shouldn't you take one with me?"
"I have been in Europe for nearly three years. How could you possibly have heard all this about me?"
"See that fellow over there facing us? The funny little chap with the baby moustache? He—"
"Why, it's Simmy Dodge," cried Braden. "Are—are you—"
"Just a friend, that's all. He's one of the finest chaps in New York. He's a gentleman. That's Mr. and Mrs. Rumsey Fenn,—the other two, I mean. You can't see them for the florist shop in between. They know you too, so—"
"May I inquire why one of my friends did not bring you over and introduce me to you, Miss—er—"
"Miss, in a sort of way, Doctor, but still a Missus," she said amiably. "Well, I told them that I knew you quite well and I wouldn't let them come over. It's all right, though. We'll be partially related to each other by marriage before long, I understand; so it's all right. You see, I am Mrs. George Dexter Tresslyn."
"You—you are?" he gasped. "By Jove, I thought that your face was familiar. I—"