Then her mother joined us, and our little confidential talk came to an
end. It was enough, however, to convince me that my poor little Ariadne
was shedding many desperate tears in secret over her desertion.

On my way home I looked in on my doctor. His name is Hunnington. He
grasped me by the hand and eagerly inquired whether my pain was worse. I
said it was not. He professed delight, but looked disappointed. I ought
to have replied in the affirmative. It is so easy to make others happy.

I dined, read a novel, and went to sleep in the cheerful frame of mind
induced by the consciousness of having made some little progress on the
path of eumoiriety.

The next morning Dale made his customary appearance. He wore a morning
coat, a dark tie, and patent-leather boots.

"Well," said I, "have you dressed more carefully today?"

He looked himself anxiously over and inquired whether there was anything
wrong. I assured him of the impeccability of his attire, and commented
on its splendour.

"Are you going to take Maisie out to lunch?"

He started and reddened beneath his dark skin. Before he could speak I
laid my hand on his shoulder.

"I'm an old friend, Dale. You mustn't be angry with me. But don't you
think you're treating Maisie rather badly?"

"You've no right to say so," he burst out hotly. "No one has the right
to say so. There was never a question of an engagement between Maisie
and myself."

"Then there ought to have been," I said judicially. "No decent man plays
fast and loose with a girl and throws her over just at the moment when
he ought to be asking her to marry him."

"I suppose my mother's been at you. That's what she wanted to see you
about yesterday. I wish to God she would mind her own business."

"And that I would mind mine?"

Dale did not reply. For some odd reason he is devotedly attached to me,
and respects my opinion on worldly matters. He walked to the window and
looked out. Presently, without turning round, he said:

"I suppose she has been rubbing it in about Lola Brandt?"

"She did mention the lady's name," said I. "So did Renniker at the club.
I suppose every one you know and many you don't are mentioning it."

"Well, what if they are?"

"They're creating an atmosphere about your name which is scarcely that
in which to make an entrance into public life."

Still with his back turned, he morosely informed me in his vernacular
that he contemplated public life with feelings of indiffe