feels that I ought to be eternally grateful--but then, what else could
the father of the Gorgeous Girl think? He has harmed me--but he has
ruined you. I hardly thought you would meet me halfway, still it was
worth the try."

Forgetful of her flounces Beatrice crumpled them in her hands, saying
sharply: "Are you taking this way of getting out of it?"

"Good heavens!" Steve murmured, half inaudibly, "I keep forgetting you
have never been taught values or sincerity! There is no way I can
prove to you how in earnest I am, is there?"

"You mean to say that I am a failure?" she preened herself unconsciously.

"The most gorgeous failure we have with us to-day! And the worst of it
is it is growing to be a common type of failure since gorgeousness is
becoming prevalent. There are many like you--not many more gorgeous,
and thousands less so. You are a type that has developed in the last
twenty years and is developing these days at breakneck speed! And you
can't understand and you don't want to and I'm damned if I'll try to
explain again."

"Well," she asked, shrewdly, quite the woman of the world, "what is it
you are about to do? Wear corduroy trousers and a red bandanna and
start a butcher-paper-covered East-Side magazine filled with
ravings?"

"No; that is another type we plain Americans have on our hands."

"Don't spar for time."

"I'm not. I'm through sparring; I want to go to work. I want----"

What was the use? He stopped before adding another spark to her
wrath.

"I suppose you want to marry that woman--Mary Faithful, who has loved
you so long and made herself so useful! She was clever enough to
pretend to efface herself and go to work for someone else, but I dare
say you have seen her as often as before. Oh, are you surprised I
know? I gave you the credit of being above such a thing, but Trudy
told me that this woman had told her the truth--so you see even your
Mary Faithful cannot be trusted. You had better turn monk, Steve, be
done with the whole annoying pack of us! Anyway, Trudy came running to
me, but I never lost sleep over the rumour. I felt you were above such
things, as I said, but presently little indications--straws, you
know--told me she cared; and if a woman cares for a man and is able to
pass several hours each day in his employ, unless she is cross-eyed or
a blithering idiot she cannot fail to win the game! Now can she,
Stevuns?"

Steve raised his hand in protest. "Please leave her out of it.