an instant had passed since Mrs. Wayne's
entrance. "Oh, no, you're not late; exactly on time, I think. I'm only
just down myself. Isn't that true, Vincent?"

Vincent was studying Mrs. Wayne, and withdrew his eyes slowly. But
Adelaide's object was accomplished: no public betrothal had taken place.

Pringle announced dinner. Mr. Lanley, rather to his own surprise, found
that he was insisting on giving Mrs. Wayne his arm; he was not so angry
at her as he had supposed. He did not think her offensive or unfeminine
or half baked or socialistic or any of the things he had been saying to
himself at lengthening intervals for the last twenty-four hours.

Pete saw an opportunity, and tucked Mathilde's hand within his own arm,
nipping it closely to his heart.

The very instant they were at table Adelaide looked down the alley
between the candles, for the low, golden dish of hot-house fruit did not
obstruct her view of Vincent, and said:

"Why have you never told me about Marty Burke?"

"Who's he?" asked Mr. Lanley, quickly, for he had been trying to start a
little conversational hare of his own, just to keep the conversation away
from the water-front.

"He's a splendid young super-tough in my employ," said Vincent. "What do
you know about him, Adelaide?"

The guarded surprise in his tone stimulated her.

"Oh, I know all about him--as much, that is, as one ever can of a
stupendous natural phenomenon."

"Where did you hear of him?"

"Hear of him? I've seen him. I saw him this morning at Mrs. Wayne's. He
just dropped in while I was there and, metaphorically speaking, dragged
us about by the hair of our heads."

"Some women, I believe, confess to enjoying that sensation,"
Vincent observed.

"Yes, it's exciting," answered his wife.

"It's an easy excitement to attain."

"Oh, one wants it done in good style."

Something so stimulating that it was almost hostile flashed through the
interchange.

Mathilde murmured to Pete:

"Who are they talking about?"

"A mixture of Alcibiades and _Bill Sykes_," said Adelaide, catching the
low tone, as she always did.

"He's the district leader and a very bad influence," said Mrs. Wayne.

"He's a champion middle-weight boxer," said Pete.

"He's the head of my stevedores," said Farron.

"O Mr. Farron," Mrs. Wayne exclaimed, "I do wish you would use your
influence over him."

"My influence? It consists of paying him eighty-five dollars a month and
giving him a box of cigars