"No," said Madam firmly. "It's best for you to go."

That night at dinner the sisters did what they could to soften the blow
for Quin. They gave vague excuses that did not excuse, and explanations
that did not explain.

"Of course, we have no idea of losing sight of you," Miss Enid said with
forced brightness. "You must drop in often to tell us how you are getting
along and to make mother laugh. You are the only person I know who can do
that."

"Yes, and we shall count on you to come to supper every Sunday evening,"
Miss Isobel added; "then we can go to church together."

"Next Sunday?" asked Quin, faintly hopeful.

"Well, no," said Miss Isobel. "For the next two weeks we shall be
occupied with the young ladies and their friends; but after that we shall
look for you."

Quin looked at the two gentle sisters in dumb amazement. How _could_ they
sit there saying such kind things to him, and at the same time shut the
door between him and the great opportunity of his life? What did it all
mean? Where had he failed? Surely there was some terrible misunderstanding!
In his complete bewilderment he created quite the most dreadful blunder
that is registered against him in his long list of social sins.

"But don't you expect me to meet the young ladies?" he blurted out
indignantly. "Aren't you going to ask me to the party?"

A horrible pause followed, during which the walls seemed to rock around
him and he felt the blood surging to his head. He was starting up from
the table when Miss Enid laid a quieting hand on his sleeve.

"Of course you are to be invited, Quinby," she said in her suavest tones;
"the invitation will reach you to-morrow."

CHAPTER 14

On the night of the Bartlett party, Quin stood before the small mirror
of his old room over the Martels' kitchen and surveyed himself in
sections. The first view, obtained by standing on a chair, was the
least satisfactory; for, in spite of the most correct of wing-toed
dancing-shoes, there was a space between them and the cuffs of his
trousers that no amount of adjustment could diminish. The second
section was far more reassuring. Having amassed what to him seemed a
fortune, for the purchase of a dress-suit, Quin had allowed himself to
be persuaded by the voluble and omniscient salesman to put all of his
money into a resplendent dinner-coat instead. The claim for the coat
that it was "the classiest garment in the city" was reinforce