hin aristocratic hand in both of his.

"No one can teach her, dear Benny," he said. "But life can--and will.
That's my particular nightmare--that people like Lydia get broken by
life--and it's always such a smash. That's why I'm content to stand by
without, as most of my friends think, due regard for my own
self-respect. That's why I do hope you'll contrive to. That's why she
seems to me the most pathetic person I know. She almost makes me cry."

"Pathetic!" said Miss Bennett with something approaching a snort.

"Yes, like a child playing with a dynamite fuse. Even to-night she
seemed to me pathetic. She can't afford to alienate the few people who
really care for her--you and Eleanor and--well, of course, she won't
alienate me, whatever she does."

"But she takes advantage of our affection," said Miss Bennett.

Bobby stood up.

"You bet she does!" he said. "She'll have something bitter waiting for
me now when I go down, something she'll have forgotten by to-morrow and
I'll remember as long as I live."

He smiled perfectly gayly and left the room. He found Lydia strolling
about the drawing-room, softly whistling to herself.

"Well," she said, "my party seems to have broken up early."

"Broken's the word," answered Bobby.

"Isn't Eleanor absurd?" said Lydia. "She loves so to be
superior--'Order my carriage'--like the virtuous duchess in a
melodrama."

"She doesn't seem absurd to me," said Bobby.

"Oh, you've been tiptoeing about binding up everybody's wounds, I
suppose," she answered. "Did you tell them that you knew I didn't mean a
word I said? Ah, yes, I see you did. Well, I did mean every single word,
and more. Upon my word, I wish you'd mind your own business, Bobby."

"I will," said Bobby, and got up and left the room.

He went out and walked quickly up and down the flat stones under the
grape arbor. The moon was not up, and the stars twinkled fiercely in the
crisp cool air. He thought of other women--lovelier and kinder than
Lydia. What kept him in this bondage to her? All the time he was asking
the question he was aware of her image in her orange tea gown against
the dark woodwork of the room, and suddenly, before he knew
it--certainly before he had made any resolve to return--he was back in
the doorway, saying,

"Would you like to play a game of piquet?"

She nodded, and they sat down at the card table. Bobby's faint
resentment had gone in ten minutes, but it was longer before Lydia,
laying dow