o me as though our friend, Jose, had taken too much for
granted."

"It looks like it," nodded Annan, smiling unpleasantly.

"Too sure of conquest," added Ogilvy. "Got the frozen mitt, didn't he?"

"_And_ the Grand Cordon of the double cross."

"_And_ the hot end of the poker; yes?"

"Sure; and it's still sizzling." Ogilvy cast a gleeful glance back at
the house:

"Fine little girl. All white. Yes? No?"

"All white," nodded Annan.... "And Neville isn't that kind of a man,
anyway."

Ogilvy said: "So _you_ think so, too?"

"Oh, yes. He's crazy about her, and she isn't taking Sundays out if it's
his day in.... Only, what's the use?"

"No use.... I guess Kelly Neville has seen as many artists who've
married their models as we have. Besides, his people are frightful
snobs."

Annan, walking along briskly, swung his stick vigorously:

"She's a sweet little thing," he said.

"I know it. It's going to be hard for her. She can't stand for a
mutt--and it's the only sort that will marry her.... I don't
know--she's a healthy kind of girl--but God help her if she ever really
falls in love with one of our sort."

"I think she's done it," said Annan.

"Kelly!"

"Doesn't it look like it?"

"Oh, it will wear off without any harm to either of them. That little
girl is smart, all right; she'll never waste an evening screaming for
the moon. And Kelly Neville is--is Kelly Neville--a dear fellow, so
utterly absorbed in the career of a brilliant and intelligent young
artist named Louis Neville, that if the entire earth blew up he'd begin
a new canvas the week after.... Not that I think him cold-hearted--no,
not even selfish as that little bounder Allaire says--but he's a man who
has never yet had time to spare."

"They're the most hopeless," observed Annan--"the men who haven't time
to spare. Because it takes only a moment to say, 'Hello, old man! How in
hell are you?' It takes only a moment to put yourself, mentally, in some
less lucky man's shoes; and be friendly and sorry and interested."

"He's a pretty decent sort," murmured Ogilvy. "Anyway, that Valerie
child is safe enough in temporarily adoring Kelly Neville."

* * * * *

The "Valerie child," in a loose, rose-silk peignoir, cross-legged on her
bed, was sewing industriously on her week's mending. Rita, in
dishabille, lay across the foot of the bed nibbling bonbons and reading
the evening paper.

They had dined in their living r