age. She glanced at the bird, then at him. Her look disconcerted
him. His _pince-nez_ dropped to the end of its ribbon, and clinked
musically against a button.

She did not speak until she reached his side. "I just called the
Northrups on the 'phone and asked for you," she began.

"Oh?" He made as if to set the cage down.

"You'd better bring it into the sitting-room," she said.

"Yes." He reddened.

The sitting-room of the Club was a full sister to that garish
front-parlor of Tottie's, but a sister tastefully dressed. The
woodwork was ivory. The walls were covered with silk tapestry in which
an old-blue shade predominated. The curtains of velvet, and the chairs
upholstered in the same material, were of a darker blue that toned in
charmingly with the walls. Oriental rugs covered the floor.

"You need not have brought an--excuse," Clare observed, as she closed
the door to the hall.

"Well, I thought," he explained, smiling a little sheepishly, "that
perhaps----"

"Particularly," she interrupted, cuttingly, "as I remember how you said
a little while ago that you hate a liar." She lifted her brows.

She had caught him squarely. The cage was a lie. He put it behind a
chair, where it would be out of sight.

"Well, you see," he went on lamely, "if you hadn't wanted to see me,
why--why----" (Here he was, apologetic!)

"Oh, I quite understand. It's always legitimate for a man to cheat a
woman, isn't it? It's not legitimate for a woman to cheat a man." She
seated herself.

He winced. He had expected something so different--weeping, pleading,
the wringing of hands; or, a hidden face and heaving shoulders, and, of
course, more lies. Instead, here was only quiet composure, more
dignity of carriage than he had ever noted in her before, and a firmly
shut mouth. He had anticipated being hurt by the sobbing confessions
he would force from her. But her cool indifference, her
self-possession, were hurting him far more. Their positions were
unpleasantly reversed. And he was standing before her, as if he, and
not she, was the culprit!

"Sit down, please," she bade, courteously.

He sat, pulling at his mustache. Now he was getting angry. His look
roved beyond her, as he sought for the right beginning.

"What I'd like to ask," he commenced, "is, are you prepared to tell me
all I ought to know--about yourself?" ("Tell me the truth" was what he
would have liked to say, but the confounded cage made i