lady waiting to see you, sir," Dick's man servant informed
him on his arrival at his apartment one evening when he had been
dining at his club, and was putting in a leisurely appearance at his
own place after his coffee and cigar.

"A lady?"

"Yes, sir, she has been here since nine. She says it's not important,
but she insisted on waiting."

"The deuce she did."

Dick's quarters were not, strictly speaking, of the bachelor variety.
That is, he had a suite in one of the older apartment houses in the
fifties, a building that domiciled more families and middle-aged
married couples than sprightly young single gentlemen. Dick had fallen
heir to the establishment of an elderly uncle, who had furnished the
place some time in the nineties and when he grew too decrepit to keep
his foothold in New York had retired to the country, leaving Dick in
possession. Even if Dick had been a conspicuously rakish young
gentleman, which he was not, the traditional dignity of his
surroundings would have certainly protected him from incongruous
indiscretion in their vicinity.

Betty rose composedly from the pompous red velour couch that ran along
the wall under a portrait of a gentleman that looked like a Philip of
Spain, but was really Dick's maternal great grandfather.

"Why, Betty," Dick said, "this isn't _convenable_ unless you have a
chaperon somewhere concealed. We don't do things like this."

"I do," Betty said. "I wanted to see you, so I came. In these
emancipated days ladies call upon their men friends if they like. It's
archaic to prattle of chaperons."

"Still we were all brought up in the fear of them."

"Mine were brought up in the fear of me. I like this place, Dicky. Why
don't you give us more parties in it? You haven't had a crowd here for
months."

"Everybody's so busy," Dick said, "we don't seem to get together any
more. I'm willing to play host any time that the rest want to come."

"You mean Nancy is so busy with her old Outside Inn."

"You are busy there, too."

"I'm not so busy that I wouldn't come here when I was asked, Dicky."

"Or even when you weren't?" Dick's smile took the edge off his
obviously inhospitable suggestion.

"Or even when I wasn't," Betty said impudently. "Won't you sit down,
Mr. Thorndyke?"

"Can't I call you a cab, Miss Pope?"

"I don't wish to go away."

"Betty, be reasonable," Dick said, "it's after ten o'clock. It is not
usual for me to receive young ladies alone here, and it