light,
drove home to Harwood the realization that Marian was no longer a child,
but a young woman, obstinately bent upon her own way. Allen was an
ill-disciplined, emotional boy, whose susceptibilities in the matter of
girls Dan had already noted. The combination had its dangers and his
anger rose as he followed them at a safe distance. They prolonged their
walk for half an hour, coming at last to the Whitcomb.

Harwood waylaid Allen in the hotel office a moment after Marian had gone
to her room. The young fellow's cheeks were unwontedly bright from the
cold or from the excitement of his encounter.

"Halloa! I was going to look you up and ask you to have dinner with me."

"You were looking for me in a likely place," replied Harwood coldly.
"See here, Allen, I've been laboring under the delusion that you were a
gentleman."

"Oh! Have we come to that?"

"You know better than to go loafing through town with a truant
school-girl you hardly know. I suppose it's my fault for introducing you
to her. I want you to tell me how you managed this. Did you telephone
her or write a note? Sit down here now and let's have it out."

They drew away from the crowd and found seats in a quiet corner of the
lobby.

Harwood, his anger unabated, repeated his question.

"Out with it; just how did you manage it?"

Allen was twisting his gloves nervously; he had not been conscious of
transgressing any law, but he would not for worlds have invited
Harwood's displeasure. He was near to tears; but he remained stubbornly
silent until Harwood again demanded to know how he contrived the meeting
with Marian.

"I'm sorry, old man," Allen answered, "but I can't tell you anything
about it. I don't see that my crime is so heinous. She has been cooped
up in the hotel all day with her sick mother, and a short walk--it was
only a few blocks--couldn't have done her any harm. I think you're
making too much of it."

"You were dallying there in the park, in a way to attract attention,
with a headstrong, silly girl that you ought to have protected from that
sort of thing. You know better than that."

Allen, enfolded in his long ulster, shuffled his feet on the tiling like
a school-boy in disgrace. Deep down in his heart, Harwood did not
believe that Allen had proposed the walk to Marian; it was far likelier
that Marian had sought the meeting by note or telephone. He turned upon
Allen with a slight relaxation of his sternness.

"You didn't write her