I left her, having an appointment with my literary agent, who has asked
me for a story for a new magazine. I reached his office and was asked
to wait for a few minutes, as he was busy with an author whose words are
worth much gold.

On the oaken table in the waiting-room, among other publications, there
was a weekly of society and fashion. I took it up for a desultory glance
at the pages. The first paragraph my eyes fell upon stated that the most
distinguished of our younger painters, it was whispered, was about to
announce his engagement to a fair Diana whose triumphs over hurdles, on
the links and on the tennis courts were no less spoken of than her
wealth and beauty.

I supposed that Gordon had seen those lines, for he takes that paper.
According to Frances, he is worried and nervous. How can this be? She
must surely be mistaken. He has captured and safely holds the bubble of
reputation, his work commands a reward that seems fabulous to such as I,
and now he is to marry beauty and wealth. Can there be any hitch in his
plans?

After I had finished my business with my agent, I strolled out with a
commission to write a five thousand word story. My way then led me up
Fifth Avenue, to the place where I get the tea Frieda and Frances so
greatly appreciate. At the Forty-Second Street crossing my arm was
seized from behind.

"Hold on, old boy. Those motors are splashing dreadfully," said Gordon,
rescuing me from a spattering of liquid mud. "Come with me to the club."

I followed him with the sheeplike acquiescence that is part of my
nature, feeling rather glad of the opportunity to talk with him and
perhaps congratulate him. As usual, he was most spick and span. His fur
coat had a collar of Alaska seal and the black pearl in his necktie was
probably worth a couple of square feet of his painting, though the
general effect was quiet and unobtrusive.

We sat down in the most deserted corner he could find and looked at one
another in silence, for a few moments. It is to be presumed that my
patience outlasted his.

"You're the dullest old curmudgeon ever permitted to come into polite
society," he declared, looking aggrieved.

"I was serenely waiting for your announcement," I replied.

"Oh! So you've seen that thing also!" he retorted, with evident
annoyance.

"Well, my dear fellow, I wanted to know whether to congratulate you or
whether the information was somewhat premature. Come, Gordon, I used to
think that we we