worth living for, she said, and mauve came next. She insisted that she wasn't working for black alpaca dresses. If she so far forgot her dignity as to go out to domestic service, it was because she needed silk gowns, and flower hats—"

"She saw you were young and inexperienced," I said bitterly, "and she was just imposing. I think I'll go and have a talk with her—"

"You can't," cried Letitia nervously, "she's out. Oh, I'm so glad she's out, for I was really frightened, Archie, and can't forget her as she stood there—just where you are—in an old weather-beaten black silk skirt with half the beads on, and a bright red jersey with half the buttons off."

"She must go!" I exclaimed imperiously. "She must go."

"No, Archie, no. The matter has been settled in an amicable way. Just as she was leaving me she burst out crying, and I felt most horribly guilty. I have no idea why I felt guilty for I had merely intended to be kind, though firm, as Aunt Julia said. Still, I felt guilty. Half an hour after she came back, quite lively, and dressed to go out, in the mauve silk, with the flower hat. She told me not to be angry, and not to worry—that sometimes when she was unstrung, she was taken that way; that she hadn't really meant anything, as she knew I was only joking about the cap and the black dress. I felt so relieved, Archie, it was a weight off my mind."

"And dinner?" I carefully tried to suppress a few pangs that were rioting.

"She was so upset, dear, that I really believed that she would go without even thinking of dinner. But I wronged her, for she didn't. She is not really a bad girl—merely odd, some one to study psychologically. In spite of her hysterical condition she has prepared dinner—another delicatessen dinner. I hope you won't mind, dear."

I sank wearily into an arm-chair. "I had an apple for luncheon, Letitia," I said with a yearning for sympathy; "one apple, and nothing more. What did you have?"

"Anna boiled me an egg," she replied; "it was really beautifully cooked, and I had some bread, and butter, and coffee. I wanted tea, Archie, but Anna had forgotten to get any in the house, as she prefers coffee. Isn't it funny, Archie? She says she simply can't drink tea—it nauseates her—and that she is quite famous for her coffee—"

"Letitia," I interrupted, "I don't think I could undergo another delicatessen dinner. The potato salad was certainly very nice, so were the pickles—as appetizers. But," with a weak attempt at humor, "I really couldn't give them an encore. Let's go out to dinner. Let's put on our things, and go down to the Martin—"

Letitia clapped her hands. "How gorgeous!" she cried ecstatically, "what a lovely idea!"

"It seems silly," I said, "to abandon our home as soon as we get into it, doesn't it, Letitia? Here we are dining out before we've dined in—"

"But, Archie," suggested Letitia triumphantly, "Aunt Julia says that nearly all New Yorkers dine at restaurants, when it is cook's night out—"

"In our case, dear,"—with a little sarcastic inflection—"every night appears to be cook's night out. So we really ought to subscribe to a restaurant—"

"That is unjust, Archie. We have been at home two nights only. Last night we really did enjoy the novelty of the delicatessen dinner, and to-night there is another waiting for us. If it hadn't been for the cap with the ribbons—which was an accident—this second delicatessen dinner wouldn't have occurred. And I'm sure—"

"Well, to-morrow night we dine at home, Letitia," I remarked rather haughtily, "for I have invited Arthur Tamworth, who is quite an epicure. When we get back from the restaurant we will arrange a little menu, and Anna can then give us a taste of her quality."

"And I dare say that she will," said Letitia, bestowing a kiss upon me. "Probably she is an exceedingly good cook. We are paying her heavy wages, Archie—the wages of a very good cook, Aunt Julia says. I don't fancy that Anna is the woman to sail under false colors—"

"Unless mauve be a false color," I interposed wittily, and then we both laughed and good temper was restored. Like a couple of children, we went gaily off to the restaurant, with ne'er a thought of the cold sausage and the buff salad that graced our own mahogany.

It was a very long and well-furnished dinner, but it was not too long for us. We were famished. At various times I have seen Letitia "toy" with her food. I have often told her that she merely coquetted with her meals. But now she labored strenuously, and this dinner was a serious affair. We were both too busy even to talk. The waiters looked at us in amazement, as they removed dish after dish, with naught to tell the tale of its quality. It was even alarming. It was not until we had arrived at the coffee that we paused in our mad career. Letitia glanced at me a trifle shamefacedly, I thought; I returned the glance, perhaps a bit abashed. Possibly she was vexed that she had shattered the rose-leaf-and-dewdrop theory, for she had certainly done so. I had never seen her in the desperation of hunger, simply battling for food.

"We were hungry," said Letitia, with a little sigh of greedy satisfaction, as I lighted a cigarette. And I was glad that she included me. It put her at ease and, as a matter of fact, I had been just as ardent. It was unusual—but it seemed better for her to be plural in her remarks.