Girl," and end up with the hopeless state of his
feelings about herself. Miss Adair herself stemmed the confession which
might have altered the fate of that good machine "The Purple Slipper."

"You've made the whole horrible experience worth while to me, and I'm
going to be a great playwright yet, just to make you--you proud of me,"
she assured his sadness in the purple dusk, and this time Mr. Vandeford
was so sure of the flutter that he reached out his hand and captured a
part of it, a white, slim little hand that nestled into his as though it
were not in any way aware of doing so. "I'm going to dinner with Miss
Herne to-morrow night, so Mr. Kent can show me what is the matter with
part of his costume for the third act, and then I'm going to coax Mr.
Corbett to fix it over for him," she continued, speaking of the business
of learning to be the great playwright she had promised him to become.

"Er--er, did you say dinner with Bebe and--and Kent?" Mr. Vandeford
stammered as a desperate opening for letting his author know just what
she was doing in visiting that establishment without-the-law.

"Yes, I know about them; Mildred told me, but I told her that I was
going to accept the 'broad standard' that prevailed in my profession. I
like both of those people a lot. What business is it of mine if they
don't want to get married?" Miss Adair's voice was coolly unconcerned
and professional.

"Help!" ejaculated Mr. Vandeford, holding the slim little hand as if
drowning. And indeed he did have a sinking sensation, which, strange to
say, was relieved by a quick mental vision of the capable young woman at
the desk of the great international safety.

"And I know about Mr. Height's three divorces, and I think he is to be
pitied instead of criticized for being so unfortunate and lonely.
Mildred says she doesn't believe he is as lonely as he tells me he is,
but I know he is. I asked Miss Herne to ask him to dinner, too, and she
did," Miss Adair continued, thus making little stabs into Mr.
Vandeford's vitals.

And right there Mr. Vandeford paid the entire penalty for all his tilts
against organized morality by feeling unworthy to take a beautiful,
fragrant, adoring, confiding girl in his arms and telling her all he had
learned of the tragic results of such tilts. His predicament was tragic,
though unique. If he summed up these others, he sized up himself to her,
and by what judgment he taught her to judge them she would judge him