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 flushed radiantly as he and Miss Baxter joined her party.

"Ah, my dear Miss Bell, you are looking charming," he exclaimed, effusively. He took her hand, a little soft pink one, that looked like a shell uncurled.

"Come, honor Miss Baxter and me by taking just one glass of sherry," and he called a passing waiter.

Cherokee looked at him with startled surprise. "How often, Mr. Frost, will I have a chance to decline your offers like this? I tell you again, I have never taken wine, and I congratulate myself."

"Are you to be congratulated or condoled with?" There was irony in Miss Baxter's tone, though her laugh was good natured, as she continued, "I see you are yet a beautiful alien, for a glass of good wine, or an occasional cigarette is never out of place with us. All of these nervous fads are city equipments."

"Then, if not to smoke and not to drink are country virtues, pray introduce them into city life," was Cherokee's answer.

"Ah, no indeed, I would never take the liberty of reversing the order of things, for they just suit me," and Miss Baxter's bright eyes twinkled under drooping lashes. As she smiled she raised