When at last he dropped down upon his soft bed, he lay and wondered if the world would go his way—the way of his love for a woman.
Cherokee met Willard Frost on Broadway the next morning—he had started to see her.
"Let me go back with you and we will lunch together—what do you say?" he proposed.
"Very well, for I am positively worn out to begin with the day, and a rest with you will refresh me," she said sweetly.
They took the first car down town and went to a café for lunch. Willard laughed mischievously as he glanced down the wine list on the menu card.
"What will you have to-day?"
"What I usually take," she answered, in the same playful mood.
"I received that perplexing note of yours, but don't quite interpret it," he began, taking it from his pocket and reading:
'Dear Mr. Frost:
I am anxious to sit for the picture at once. Of course you will never speak of it. Don't let anyone know it.
Yours, in confidence,
Cherokee.'
