, boyish loyalty and lack of self-analysis always put him
into good-humor. It was as infectious as the jovial temper of Bobby
Dane, Thayer reflected enviously, with a sudden memory of the idle talk
over their dinner. Strange what had put him on his nerves afterwards!
Then his thoughts flew to Lorimer, and he wondered how his old chum
would bear the harness of domestic living. Perhaps it was just as well
that no idea crossed his mind of how far his story told to Beatrix Dane,
the Monday before, had had a share in shaping the decision which was to
change the whole character of her life.

The question of one's accountability for others is rarely an edifying
subject of meditation.

CHAPTER FOUR

"It isn't so easy to say airy nothings to an artist, when you know him
behind the scenes," Beatrix said, suddenly shifting the talk back to the
point of departure.

"Talk philosophy, then," Bobby returned.

"But I must say something to him, after he gets through singing; and now
that I have seen him, three or four times, I can't launch into a sea of
platitudes."

"I thought women could always go to sea in a platitude. It is as leaky
as a sieve, and not half so likely to upset and leave one floating
without any support at all."

Sally laughed outright.

"Beware of Bobby, when he turns metaphorical! He suggests a second-hand
curio shop."

Lorimer glanced up at her, with a whimsical smile twisting his lips.

"Your own rhetoric isn't above reproach, Miss Van Osdel. But has it ever
occurred to you that Young America has abandoned its sieve for a man of
war? I met a callow junior from Harvard, the other day, and by way of
making polite conversation, I asked him to suggest a clever subject for
a debate. He promptly told me that at his eating club they had been
discussing the origins of morality."

Bobby whistled, to the huge delight of the butler. That factotum
revelled in the pranks of "Master Bobby" who had upset his dignity at
least once a week for the past fifteen years.

"In our time we took our pleasures less sadly, Lorimer. What are we all
coming to?"

"To congenital senility."

"That is nothing more nor less than the frugal trick of making both ends
meet," Sally interpolated.

"But what shall I say to Mr. Thayer?" Beatrix reiterated.

"That it is a pleasant evening."

"That you hope he isn't very tired with singing so much," Bobby and
Sally suggested in the same breath.

Beatrix made a little gestur