"Latham," said Frost, "you are a first-rate fellow to arrange things so that I can again meet the lovely Mrs. Milburn."
"'Again meet her!' then you know her already?"
"Know her?" the brief interrogatory, with the accompanying shrug of the shoulders and significant laugh, formed a decided affirmative answer.
A swift flush of indignation swept across Marrion Latham's features. The manner of his companion annoyed him.
"Why have you never called here before?" he asked, coldly.
"We had a trifling misunderstanding some time ago. Report had it that she was somewhat interested in me, and that too, since my marriage to Frances Baxter."
"And it was to gain admission here that you insisted on Robert's drinking last night, even after I asked you not to do it?"
"Oh, no, I like Milburn and want to help him in his art. I was free to call without a special invitation, though I was not sorry when he insisted upon my coming."
"Hush! here they are."
The two men rose. Willard Frost's gaze went straight to the tall, lithe figure that came forward to meet her guests.
