ble wines and viands.

A genial glow already enveloped Gatewood and pleasantly suffused Kerns.
From time to time they held some rare vintage aloft, squinting through
the crystal-imprisoned crimson with deep content.

"Not that _my_ word is necessarily the _last_ word concerning Burgundy,"
said Gatewood modestly; "but I venture to doubt that any club in America
can match this bottle, Kerns."

"Now, Jack," wheedled Kerns, "isn't it pleasant to dine here once in a
while? Be frank, man! Look about at the other tables--at all the
pleasant, familiar faces--the same fine fellows, bless 'em--the same
smoky old ceiling, the same bum portraits of dead governors, the same
old stag heads on the wall. Now, Jack, isn't it mighty pleasant, after
all? Be a gentleman and admit it!"

"Y-yes," confessed Gatewood, "it's all right for me once in a while,
because I know that I am presently going back to my own home--a jolly
lamplit room and the prettiest girl in Manhattan curled up in an
armchair--"

"You're fortunate," said Kerns shortly. And for the first time there
remained no lurking mockery in his voice; for the first time his retort
was tinged with bitterness. But the next instant his eyes glimmered with
the same gay malice, and the unbelieving smile twitched at his clean-cut
lips, and he raised his hand, touching the short ends of his mustache
with that careless, amused cynicism which rather became him.

"All that you picture so entrancingly is forbidden the true believer,"
he said; and began to repeat:

"'O weaver! weave the flowers of Feraghan
Into the fabric that thy birth began;
Iris, narcissus, tulips cloud-band tied,
These thou shalt picture for the eye of Man;
Henna, Herati, and the Jhelums tide
In Sarraband and Saruk be thy guide,
And the red dye of Ispahan beside
The checkered Chinese fret of ancient gold;
--So heed the ban, old as the law is old,
Nor weave into thy warp the laughing face,
Nor limb, nor body, nor one line of grace,
Nor hint, nor tint, nor any veiled device
Of Woman who is barred from Paradise!'"

"A nice sentiment!" said Gatewood hotly.

"Can't help it; you see I'm forbidden to monkey with the eternal looms
or weave the forbidden into the pattern of my life."

Gatewood sat silent for a moment, then looked up at Kerns with something
so closely akin to a grin that his friend became interested in its
scarcely veiled significance, and grinned in