usan shrugged her shoulders.

A sardonic grin flitted over Sperry's Punch-like face. "The
more I see of women, the less I think of 'em," said he. "But
I suppose the men'd be lazy and worthless too, if nature had
given 'em anything that'd sell or rent. . . . Somehow I'm
disappointed in _you_, though."

That ended the conversation until they were sitting down at
the table. Then Sperry said:

"Are you offended by my frankness a while ago?"

"No," replied Susan. "The contrary. Some day your saying
that may help me."

"It's quite true, there's something about you--a look--a
manner--it makes one feel you could do things if you tried."

"I'm afraid that 'something' is a fraud," said she. No doubt
it was that something that had misled Brent--that had always
deceived her about herself. No, she must not think herself a
self-deceived dreamer. Even if it was so, still she must not
think it. She must say to herself over and over again "Brent
or no Brent, I shall get on--I shall get on" until she had
silenced the last disheartening doubt.

Miss Francklyn, with Fitzalan on her left and Spenser on her
right, was seated opposite Susan. About the time the third
bottle was being emptied the attempts of Spenser and Constance
to conceal from her their doings became absurd. Long before
the supper was over there had been thrust at her all manner of
proofs that Spenser was again untrue, that he was whirling
madly in one of those cyclonic infatuations which soon wore
him out and left him to return contritely to her. Sperry
admired Susan's manners as displayed in her unruffled
serenity--an admiration which she did not in the least
deserve. She was in fact as deeply interested as she seemed
in his discussion of plays and acting, illustrated by Brent's
latest production. By the time the party broke up, Susan had
in spite of herself collected a formidable array of
incriminating evidence, including the stealing of one of
Constance's jeweled show garters by Spenser under cover of the
tablecloth and a swift kiss in the hall when Constance went
out for a moment and Spenser presently suspended his drunken
praises of himself as a dramatist, and appointed himself a
committee to see what had become of her.

At the door of the restaurant, Spenser said:

"Susan, you and Miss Francklyn take a taxicab. She'll drop
you at our place on her way home. Fitz and Sperry and I want
one more drink."

"Not for me," said Sperry savagely,