never danced. With a view to astonish
her, he said--

"Since I became a student of Schopenhauer I have given up waltzing.
Now I never indulge in anything but a square."

For a few moments his joke amused him, and he regretted that John
Norton, who would understand its humour, was not there to laugh at
it. Having eaten supper he chose the deepest chair among the
clustered furniture of the drawing-room, and watched in spleenic
interest a woman of thirty flirting with a young man.

The panelled skirt stretched stiffly over the knees, the legs were
crossed, one drawn slightly back. The young man sat awkwardly on the
edge of the sofa nursing his silk foot. She looked at him over her
fan, inclining her blonde head in assent from time to time. The young
man was delicate--a red blonde. The wall, laden with heavy shelves,
was covered with an embossed paper of a deep gold hue. A piece of
silk, worked with rich flowers, concealed the volumes in a light
bookcase. A lamp, set on a tall brass rod, stood behind the lady,
flooding her hair with yellow light, and its silk shade was nearly
the same tint as the lady's hair. The costly furniture, the lady and
her lover, the one in black and white, the other in creamy lace, the
panelled skirt extended over her knees, filled the room like a
picture--an enticing but somewhat vulgar picture of modern refinement
and taste. Mike watched them curiously.

"Five years ago," he thought, "I was young like he is; my soul
thrilled as his is thrilling now."

Then, seeing a woman whom he knew pass the door on her way to the
ball-room, he asked her to come and sit with him. He did so
remembering the tentative steps they had taken in flirtation three
years ago. So by way of transition, he said--

"The last time we met we spoke of the higher education of women, and
you said that nothing sharpened the wits like promiscuous flirtation.
Enchanting that was, and it made poor Mrs.--Mrs.--I really can't
remember--a lady with earnest eyes--look so embarrassed."

"I don't believe I ever said such a thing; anyhow, if I did, I've
entirely changed my views."

"What a pity! but--perhaps you have finished your education?"

"Yes, that's it; and now I must go up-stairs. I am engaged for this
dance."

"Clearly I'm out of it," thought Mike. "Not only do people see me
with new eyes, but I see them with eyes that I cannot realize as
mine."

The drawing-room was empty; all had gone up-stairs to dance, so,
find