“In her room—at nine!”
All this was very terrible to Mr. Wrenn. He found himself in the position of a man scheduled to address the Brewers’ Association and the W. C. T. U. at the same hour. Valiantly he attempted:
“Miss Nash oughta be a good person for our picnics. She’s a regular shark for outdoor tramping.”
“Oh yes, Mr. Wrenn and I tramped most all night in England one time,” said Istra, innocently.
The eyes of the table asked Mr. Wrenn what he meant by it. He tried to look at Nelly, but something hurt inside him.
“Yes,” he mumbled. “Quite a long walk.”
Miss Mary Proudfoot tried again:
“is it pleasant to study in Paris? Mrs. Arty said you were an artist.”
“No.”
Then they were all silent, and the rest of the dinner Mr. Wrenn alternately discussed Olympia Johns with Istra and picnics with Nelly. There was an undertone of pleading in his voice which made Nelly glance at him and even become kind. With quiet insistence she dragged Istra into a discussion of rue de la Paix fashions which nearly united the shattered table and won Mr. Wrenn’s palpitating thankfulness.