r the hour, for the moment. ... You'll remember
that, won't you?"

"Oh yes, I _do_," she said gratefully, taking a bite of cream cake.

"What they call Futurism (I hope you understand) is absolute rubbish and
inconsistent nonsense. For this reason. It's impossible to enjoy the
present or the future if you eliminate the past entirely, as the
so-called Futurists wish to do. Destruction of old associations and
treasures would ruin one's sense of proportion; it's worse than living
in the prehistoric. Besides, at least we know what _has_ happened, and
what _is_ happening, but we can't possibly know what is _going_ to be,
what the future holds for us; so what's the point of thinking only of
that? Why should we live only for posterity, when, as the old joke says,
posterity has done nothing for us!"

"Well, the truth is _I_ always feel nothing matters except now," said
Madeline candidly.

He laughed. "And, in a way, you're right; it's all we're quite sure of."

"Yes, I'm afraid it is."

"By the way," he said, dropping his instructive manner, "can you tell me
where you get your hats? Do you mind?"

"Oh yes, of course I can; at several places. This one came from----" She
hesitated a moment.

"Paquin?" he asked, in a low, mysterious voice.

"Selfridge," she replied.

"Oh, I didn't know you were a Selfridgette! But, please forgive my
asking, won't you? Someone who didn't seem to know ... I mean, a friend
of mine. ... Oh, well, I know you don't mind telling me."

He looked hard at her hat, could find no fault with it. Evidently its
value was not diminished in his eyes. He was rather gratified that it
did not come from some impossibly costly place. This pleased her; it was
a good sign. Satisfaction at a moderate indication of economy suggested
serious intentions.

"It suits you very well," he went on, in his kind, approving way. "Now,
will you give me another cup of tea?"

She poured it out rather shakily.

"No sugar, please."

"Oh!" She had already nervously dropped in about three lumps.

"Oh well, never mind. ... Yes, you're looking charming, Madeline--it's
absurd calling you Miss Irwin after knowing each other so long, isn't
it?"

She was so delighted that she almost thanked him for calling her by her
Christian name.

"Do you know, Madeline," he went on, "that, at times, you're almost a
beauty."

She opened her mouth with surprise.

"_Almost._ You were one evening--I forget which evening--you had
someth