cosy little round table, and I began to pour out the coffee.
"Yes," I assented, handing him his cup.
"After breakfast we are to go for a nice long walk on Broadway to look at the people, and after dinner we are engaged to Mr. and Mrs. Donaldson for the opera."
"You have the programme carefully mapped out," he said, laughing. "Have you been thinking about it long?"
"All night," I said, thoughtlessly.
He looked at me for a moment. My words had no significence, however, other than their literal meaning.
"What do they sing at the opera to-night?" he asked, carelessly.
"Lohengrin."
"I hate Wagner."
"Then you have no right to say so," I assented vigorously, as I dropped an extra piece of sugar into my cup. "If you dare to tell Mr. and Mrs. Donaldson such a thing, the same hotel will never hold us."
He laughed. He was evidently happy this
