bearing a glass of champagne and some

For a space Willis Enderby sat thinking. "Does Banneker know your--your intentions?" "No." "You mustn't let him, Io." "He won't know the intention. He may know the--the feeling back of it." A slow and glorious flush rose in her face, making her eyes starry. "I don't know that I can keep it from him, Cousin Billy. I don't even know that I want to. I'm an honest sort of idiot, you know." "God grant that he may prove as honest!" he half whispered. Presently Banneker, bearing a glass of champagne and some pate sandwiches for Io, supplanted the lawyer. "Are you the devotee of toil that common report believes, Ban?" she asked him lazily. "They say that you write editorials with one hand and welcome your guests with the other." "Not quite that," he answered. "To-night I'm not thinking of work. I'm not thinking of anything but you. It's very wonderful, your being here." "But I want you to think of work. I want to see you in the very act. Won't you write an editorial for me?" He shook his head. "This late? That would be cruelty to my secretary." "I'll take it down for you. I'm fairly fast on the typewriter." "Will you give me the subject, too?" "No more than fair," she admitted. "What shall it be? It ought to be something with memories in it. Books? Poetry?" she groped. "I've got it! Your oldest, favorite book. Have you forgotten?" "The Sears-Roebuck catalogue? I get a copy every season, to renew the old thrill." "What a romanticist you are!" said she softly. "Couldn't you write an editorial about it?" "Couldn't I? Try me. Come up to the den."

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