dark,
and the girl placed her hand on his arm. As they rounded a turn in the
stairs a straying lock of her hair brushed against his temple. "Oh!"
said Florinda, in a low voice.

"We'll get some more claret," observed Hawker musingly. "And some cognac
for the coffee. And some cigarettes. Do you think of anything more,
Splutter?"

As they came from the shop of the illustrious purveyors of potato salad
in Second Avenue, Florinda cried anxiously, "Here, Billie, you let me
carry that!"

"What infernal nonsense!" said Hawker, flushing. "Certainly not!"

"Well," protested Florinda, "it might soil your gloves somehow."

"In heaven's name, what if it does? Say, young woman, do you think I am
one of these cholly boys?"

"No, Billie; but then, you know----"

"Well, if you don't take me for some kind of a Willie, give us peace on
this blasted glove business!"

"I didn't mean----"

"Well, you've been intimating that I've got the only pair of gray gloves
in the universe, but you are wrong. There are several pairs, and these
need not be preserved as unique in history."

"They're not gray. They're----"

"They are gray! I suppose your distinguished ancestors in Ireland did
not educate their families in the matter of gloves, and so you are not
expected to----"

"Billie!"

"You are not expected to believe that people wear gloves only in cold
weather, and then you expect to see mittens."

On the stairs, in the darkness, he suddenly exclaimed, "Here, look out,
or you'll fall!" He reached for her arm, but she evaded him. Later he
said again: "Look out, girl! What makes you stumble around so? Here,
give me the bottle of wine. I can carry it all right. There--now can you
manage?"

CHAPTER XXIV.

"Penny," said Grief, looking across the table at his friend, "if a man
thinks a heap of two violets, how much would he think of a thousand
violets?"

"Two into a thousand goes five hundred times, you fool!" said Pennoyer.
"I would answer your question if it were not upon a forbidden subject."

In the distance Wrinkles and Florinda were making Welsh rarebits.

"Hold your tongues!" said Hawker. "Barbarians!"

"Grief," said Pennoyer, "if a man loves a woman better than the whole
universe, how much does he love the whole universe?"

"Gawd knows," said Grief piously. "Although it ill befits me to answer
your question."

Wrinkles and Florinda came with the Welsh rarebits, very triumphant.
"There," said Florinda, "soon