o her about----"

"No. But it might happen. You know, Jim, I have nothing to conceal."

The old troubled look had come back into his face. She noticed it and
led the conversation to lighter themes.

"We danced last night after dinner," she said. "There were some
amusing people here for dinner. Then we went to see such a charming
play--_Tea for Three_--and then we had supper at the Biltmore and
danced.... Will you dine with me to-morrow?"

"Of course."

"Do you think you'd enjoy it?--a lot of people who entertain the same
shocking beliefs that I do?"

"All right!" he said with emphasis. "I'm through playing the role of
death's-head at the feast. I told you that I'm going to take you as
you are and enjoy you and our friends--and quit making an ass of
myself----"

"Dear, you never did!"

"Oh, yes, I did. And maybe I'm a predestined ass. But every ass has a
pair of heels and I'm going to flourish mine very gaily from now on!"

She protested laughingly at his self-characterisation, and bent toward
him a little, caressing his sleeve in appeal, or shaking it in
protest as he denounced himself and promised to take the world more
gaily in the future.

"You'll see," he remarked, rising to take his leave: "I may even call
the bluff of some of your fluffy ultra-modern friends and try a few
trial marriages with each of 'em----"

"Oh, Jim, you're absolutely horrid! As if my friends believed in such
disgusting ideas!"

"They do--some of 'em."

"They don't!"

"Well, then, I do!" he announced so gravely that she had to look at
him closely in the rather dim lamplight to see whether he was
jesting.

She walked to the top of the staircase with him; let him take her into
his arms; submitted to his kiss. Always a little confused by his
demonstrations, nevertheless her hand retained his for a second
longer, as though shyly reluctant to let him go.

"I am so glad you came," she said. "Don't neglect me any more."

And so he went his way.

* * * * *

His mother discovered him in the library, dressed for dinner.
Something, as he rose--his manner of looking at her, perhaps--warned
her that they were not perfectly _en rapport_. Then the subtle,
invisible antennae, exploring caressingly what is so palpable in the
heart of man, told her that once more she was to deal with the girl in
black.

When his mother was seated, he said: "I didn't know you had met Palla
Dumont, mother."