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"Lord love you," he assured her, "you may do anything on earth that pleases you.... Maria, my dear, you may run home to your mama; I have affairs of state. And I'll be delighted to see you again at breakfast time."

Maria put down her things and fled. Again Deveril laughed softly.

"It was no tender scene that you interrupted," he told his visitor. "I was merely seeking expression in a bit of rudimentary human language of my gratitude for the loan of a cracked plate! Look at it!" He held it aloft.

"A gratitude which obviously springs from the heart," she returned as lightly as he had spoken.

She sat down on the door-step. He came toward her, meaning to have a better look at her.

"But you were just beginning your supper," she objected. "Please go on with it while it is hot. Otherwise I shall most certainly leave without talking with you as I had wished."

"But you? There is plenty for both of us."

She shook her head emphatically.

"No, thank you. It's very kind, but I have eaten."

"Then I eat, though it's putting a hungry man at an unfair advantage to watch him at such a disgusting pastime." He poured himself a cup of coffee, all the while trying to make out her features. He knew already that she was pretty; one sensed a thing like that. But just how pretty, that even Babe Deveril could not decide as long as the light was no better and she hid in the shadows of her provoking hat. "And now, how may I be of service?"