A BAYARD OF BROADWAY
"Stebbins? Stebbins?" Bob murmured to himself. "Ah, yes; the beastly boat got afire, and he had to go down; I'm going too, after a while—too early yet—take a little walk, first, with Miss—Miss" He paused, and stared thoughtfully at the woman. "I don't seem to just recall your name," he said pleasantly. "Would you mind telling me so that I can introduce you? Bad form, his poking in, though, terribly bad form."
Dillon noted with anger that Bob was at his most argumentative, obstinate stage; at this point, if he felt the necessity, he could speak most correctly and clearly, by giving some thought to the matter, and it was almost impossible to alter his determinations.
"My name is Williams," said the woman. Dillon bowed.
"What have you had, Bob?" he inquired, moving along with them.
"Oh, only a cocktail—here and there—Miss—Miss Willis likes 'em as well as anything. About time we had another?" he suggested, eyeing Lawrence combatively.
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