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His library phone rang.

“Mr. Allison?” a woman’s voice. Gail Sargent, Mrs. Sargent, Mrs. Davies, or Lucile Teasdale. No other ladies were on his list. The voice was not that of Gail. “Are you busy to-night?” Oh, yes, Lucile Teasdale.

“Free as air,” he gaily told her.

“I’m so glad,” rattled Lucile. “Ted’s just telephoned that he has tickets for ‘The Lady’s Maid.’ Can you join us?”

“With pleasure.” No hesitation whatever; prompt and agreeable; even pleased.

“That’s jolly. I think six makes such a nice crowd. Besides you and ourselves, there’ll be Arly and Dick Rodley and Gail.” Gail, of course. He had known that. “We’ll start from Uncle Jim’s at eight o’clock.”

Allison called old Ephraim.

“I want to begin dressing at seven-fifteen,” he directed. “At three o’clock set some sandwiches inside the door. Have some fruit in my dressing-room.”

He went back to his map, remembering Lucile with a retrospective smile. The last time he had seen that vivacious young person she had been emptying a box of almonds, at the side of the camp fire at the toboggan party. He jotted down a memorandum to send her some, and drew a high stool in front of the map.