to make
her accept anything--even when she was in actual need. Our friendship
is not on _that_ basis. She doesn't care for me because of what I do
for her. It may surprise you to hear me--"

"My son, nothing surprises me any more, not even virtue and honesty.
This girl may be all you think her. Personally I never met any like
her, but I've read about them in sentimental fiction. No doubt there's
a basis for such popular heroines. There may have been such paragons.
There may be yet. Perhaps you've collided with one of these feminine
curiosities."

"I have."

"All right, Clive. Only, why linger longer in the side-show than the
price of admission warrants? The main tent awaits you. In more modern
metaphor; it's the same film every hour, every day, the same
orchestrion, the same environment. You've seen enough. There's nothing
more--if I clearly understand your immaculate intentions. Do I?"

"Yes," said Clive, reddening.

"All right; there's nothing more, then. It's time to retire. You've
had your amusement, and you've paid for it like a gentleman--very much
like a gentleman--rather exorbitantly. That's the way a gentleman
always pays. So now suppose you return to your own sort and coyly
reappear amid certain circles recently neglected, and which, at one
period of your career, you permitted yourself to embellish and adorn
with your own surpassing personality."

They both laughed; there had been, always, a very tolerant
understanding between them.

Then Clive's face grew graver.

"Father," he said, "I've tried remaining away. It doesn't do any good.
The longer I stay away from her, the more anxious I am to go back....
It's really friendship I tell you."

"You're not in love with her, are you, Clive?"

The son hesitated: "No!... No, I can't be. I'm very certain that I am
not."

"What would you do if you were?"

"But--"

"What would you _do_ about it?"

"I don't know."

"Marry her?"

"I couldn't do that!" muttered Clive, startled. Then he remained
silent, his mind crowded with the component parts of that vague
sum-total which had so startled him at the idea of marrying Athalie
Greensleeve.

Partly his father's blunt question had jarred him, partly the idea of
marrying anybody at all. Also the mere idea of the storm such a
proceeding would raise in the world he inhabited, his mother being the
storm-centre, dispensing anathema, thunder, and lightning, appalled
him.

"What!"

"I couldn't do _that_,"