She said in a low voice: "It's all right, I suppose, if you know the man."
"I don't care whether I know him or not as long as it's a good restaurant."
"Don't talk that way, Doris!"
"Why not? It's true."
There was a silence. Doris set aside the empty bowl, yawned, looked at the clock, yawned again.
"This is too late for Catharine," she said, drowsily.
"I know it is. Who are the people she's with?"
"Genevieve Hunting—I don't know the men:—some of Genevieve's friends."
"I hope it's nobody from Winton's."
There had been in the Greensleeve family, a tacit understanding that it was not the thing to accept social attentions from anybody connected with the firm which employed them. Winton, the male milliner and gown designer, usually let his models alone, being in perpetual