gain, quite without
warning, some twenty minutes earlier.

She came over the next afternoon. On the day following she practically
took up her residence with us. I thought of inviting her to bring a
trunk and occupy the white room. On the fourth night I accidentally
overheard a brief but pregnant colloquy which took place just inside the
library door, toward the last of the evening.

"You've got to take her home to-night, old man."

"I won't." It was the Philosopher.

"You've got to. It's your turn. No shirking."

"I'll be hanged if I will."

"I'll be hanged if _I_ will. There's a limit."

"I'd always supposed there was. There doesn't seem to be."

"Come along--stand up to it like a man. It's up to you to-night. She
can't carry you off bodily."

"I'm not so sure of that." The Philosopher's tone was grim.

So far I had been transfixed. But now I hurried away. I was consumed
with anxiety during the next ten minutes, lest they come to blows in
settling it. But when they appeared I could tell that they had settled
it somehow.

When Dahlia arose and said that she positively must go they both
accompanied her. The transit occupied less time than it had done on any
previous occasion.

* * * * *

From this time on there was concerted action on the part of our two men.
Where one was, the other was. The Gay Lady and I received less attention
than we were accustomed to expect--the two men were too busy standing by
each other to have much time for us.

"I'm so sorry," said Dahlia, coming over after dinner on the tenth
evening, "but I'm going away to-morrow. I've an invitation that I'm
simply not allowed to refuse."

The Philosopher's face lit up. He attempted to conceal it by burying his
head in his handkerchief for a moment, in mock distress, but his
satisfaction showed even behind his ears. The Skeptic bent down and
elaborately tied his shoe-ribbon. The Gay Lady regarded Dahlia sweetly,
and said, "That's surely very nice for you."

"I think," observed Dahlia, looking coyly from the Skeptic to the
Philosopher, "that I shall have to let each of you take me for a
farewell walk to-night. You first"--she indicated the Philosopher. "Or
shall it be a row for one and a walk for the other?"

She and the Philosopher strolled away toward the river. There had been
no way out for him.

"The Englishman, the Scotsman and the Irishman," began the Skeptic, in a
conversational tone, "being about