A BAYARD OF BROADWAY
posed the woman, laconically, but not angrily. Her interest was awakened, perhaps her sense of humour, too, and she awaited developments philosophically.
"Never a bit," Bob returned. "You don't know old Dill. If he says it, he'll do it, if there were what-do-you-call-'ems in the way."
"I give you my word of honour," said Lawrence, steadily.
"And you'll never tell Helen? Because if you do, she tells Uncle Owen, and it's all up with Robbie."
"I will never tell her."
"On your word of honour?"
"On my word of honour."
"Then call your cab and tuck me in my little bed. My eyes will crack if I prop 'em up any longer."
"Miss—Miss—I can't recall your name, but you don't object?…"
"Oh, no, I don't object in the least," said Miss Williams satirically, with a wondering glance at the tall, immaculate gentleman at her side, his face
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