ware
that you're far too much a man of high principle to come any way between
a woman and her husband, or even to let her know if you had a fancy in
that direction.... I thoroughly do you justice there, Harry."

"I regard them as sisters," answered Harry.

Van Buren went to the window and stood looking out for a few minutes.

"Well, they are sisters.... What a wonderful place your London is!" he
said. "Now there's the sort of thing I never can understand, which has
just happened. A lady called a taxicab. Just as it came up a man--at
least I suppose he calls himself a man--opened the door. I thought he
meant to help her in. No! He got in himself and drove away.--Now, Harry,
how do you account for that?"

"I suppose he could walk quicker," said Harry.

"It's the one fault I have to find with you Englishmen, Harry--the
single fault. You're not gallant enough to the ladies. Nor is there, in
my opinion, quite enough respect shown to them. I am always astonished,
I admit, that they don't resent it. Why, in New York----."

"My dear fellow, they complain bitterly that there's too much respect
shown to them already," said Harry. "A little more, and they'd do
without us altogether!"

Van Buren laughed cheerily, and clapped Harry on the shoulder.

"What a fellow you are for chaff! Now, will you come around and have
lunch with me?"

"When? Now? Thanks, old chap."

"That's real good, Harry," said Van Buren, his eyes sparkling with joy,
"and we'll walk down Piccadilly together. I must say ..."

"What?"

"I shan't feel we're real pals till you call me Mat!"

Harry shivered ostentatiously.

They went out, both laughing with great cordiality.

At the corner Van Buren stopped to throw away his buttonhole. He saw
they were not being worn.

CHAPTER IV

THE ELDER MRS. WYBURN

Romer's mother usually received him with a sarcastic remark, such as
"Oh, so you remember that I'm not dead yet?" or "I wonder you find time
to come at all," or something of the same nature, calculated to cast a
gloom over any visit.

The widow of a rich brewer, Mrs. Wyburn lived in a bad-tempered looking
old house in Curzon Street, with a harassed footman, a domineering maid,
a cross cook, and other servants that were continually changing. She was
one of those excellent housekeepers who spend most of their time "giving
notice" and "taking up" characters. She nearly always wore a
hard-looking black silk dress. She had parted black hair,