me, unhitched, and put up his horse; but instead of going into
the house, he walked down to the post office. He found nothing in his
box. He felt better in the open, so he continued to walk. He had told
his mother he was going to the city, so he might as well walk that way.
Soon the lights gleamed through the coming darkness. He went on with his
confused thoughts, on into the city and to the moving picture show. He
bought a ticket and an attendant led him stumbling in the dark room to a
seat.

It was the first time he had been there. He and Carlia were going
together. It was quite wonderful to the young man to see the actors
moving about lifelike on the white screen. The story contained a number
of love-making scenes, which, had they been enacted in real life, in
public as this was, they would certainly have been stopped by the
police. Then there was a comic picture wherein a young fellow was
playing pranks on an old man. The presentation could hardly be said to
teach respect for old age, but the audience laughed uproariously at it.

When the picture closed and the lights went on, Dorian turned about to
leave, and there stood Carlia. A young man was assisting her into her
light wraps. She saw him, so there was no escape, and they spoke to each
other. Carlia introduced her escort, Mr. Lamont.

"Glad to know you," said Mr. Lamont, in a hearty way. "I've known of you
through Miss Duke. Going home now?"

"Yes," said Dorian.

"Drive?"

"No; I'm walking."

"Then you'll ride with us. Plenty of room. Glad to have you."

"Thank you, I--"

"Yes, come," urged Carlia.

Dorian hesitated. He tried to carry an independent manner, but Mr.
Lamont linked his arm sociably with Dorian's as he said:

"Of course you'll ride home with us; but first we'll have a little ice
cream."

"No thanks," Dorian managed to say. What more did this fellow want of
him?

However, as Dorian could give no good reason why he should not ride home
with them, he found no way of refusing to accompany them to a nearby
ice-cream parlor. Mr. Lamont gave the order, and was very attentive to
Carlia and Dorian. It was he who kept the flow of conversation going.
The other two, plainly, were not adept at this.

"What did you think of the show, Mr. Trent?"

"The moving pictures are wonderful, but I did not like the story very
much."

"It was rotten," exclaimed the other in seeming disgust. I did not
know what was on, or I should not have gone. Last wee