f the
automobile that morning, had inquired the way to Bayport.

The young man turned lazily. "Are we?" he said. "I--What! Why, Mabel,
it's the humorist!"

Then she recognized me. I could feel the blood climbing from my toes
to the roots of my hair. I was too astonished and chagrined to speak or
even move, though I wanted to move very much indeed. She looked at me
and I at her. Then she turned coldly away.

"Come, Victor," she said.

But Victor was his own blase self. It took more than a trifle to shake
his calm. He laughed.

"It's the humorist," he repeated. "Reuben, how are you?"

Colton regarded the three of us with amazement.

"What?" he began. "Mabel, do you--"

But I had recovered my powers of locomotion. I was on my way out of that
library.

"Here!" shouted Colton. "Stop!"

I did not stop. Feeling as I did at that moment it would have been
distinctly unpleasant for the person who tried to stop me. The girl was
in my way and, as I approached, she drew her skirts aside. No doubt
it was my imagination which made her manner of doing it seem like an
insult, but, imagination or reality, it was the one thing necessary to
clench my resolution. Now when she looked at me I returned the look with
interest. I strode through the doorway and across the hall. The butler
would have opened the outer door for me, but I opened it myself to the
imminent danger of his dignified nose. As I stepped from the portico I
heard behind me a roar from Big Jim Colton and a shout of laughter from
Victor.

I walked home at top speed. Only once did I look back. That was just as
I was about to enter the grove on the other side of the Shore Lane. Then
I turned and saw, at the big window at the end of the "Newport villa,"
a group of three staring in my direction: Colton, his daughter and that
cub Victor. The distance was too great to see the expression of their
faces, but I knew that two of them, at least, were laughing--laughing at
me.

I did not laugh.

Lute was waiting for me by the gate and ran to meet me. He was wild with
excitement.

"He came after you, didn't he?" he cried, grabbing at my coat sleeve.
"You went over to his house with him, didn't you! I see you and at fust
I couldn't scurcely believe it. What did he want? What did he say?"

I did not answer. He ran along beside me, still clinging to my sleeve.

"What did he want?" he repeated. "What did he say to you? What did you
say to him? Tell a feller, can't you?"