alone emphasizing by an attitude his entire aloofness from the general
interest.

And all the time Miss Roots was talking, Flossie, without saying a
word, contrived to seize upon the disengaged portion of his mind. He
wondered what she was thinking about.

She was thinking, first, that it really paid to put on your best
blouse every evening. Next, that it wasn't worth while if he would
keep on talking to the lady on his right. Then that she couldn't
decide the point until she knew where he was going on Sunday.

That she never knew; but she went to the play with him on Saturday,
and on many Saturdays after that. There was nobody so gay that spring
as Flossie.

Coming fresh to Flossie after a long estrangement, Rickman couldn't
recognize her from his old account of her as a poor little girl who
worked too hard and never had any fun to speak of. In so describing
her, no doubt he had been influenced by the melancholy of his earlier
mood. But there were other reasons why he still insisted on regarding
her in this pathetic light. It provided him with several very
agreeable sensations, and the most agreeable of all was the voluptuous
passion of pity. It kept him detached, always in the superior position
of a benefactor. Benefactor, indeed! He was in a fair way of becoming
Flossie's deity, her Providence, the mystic source of theatre-tickets
and joy. No really brave man ever shrinks from the dangers of
apotheosis, when the process involves no loss of personal dignity. And
apart from the gratification of his natural healthy vanity, Rickman's
heart was touched by the thought that the little thing turned to him
instinctively for all her innocent pleasures.

Then all at once the innocent pleasures ceased. They ceased just as
Flossie's palpitating heart told her that she was really making an
impression on this singularly unimpressionable young man. She knew it
by the sudden softening of his voice as he spoke to her, by the
curious brilliant dilation of his eyes as they followed her about the
room. For after much easy practice on Mr. Spinks she knew precisely by
what movements and what glances she could best produce these
interesting effects. And yet nothing could be farther from Flossie's
fancy than flirtation. The little clerk was nothing if not practical,
even under the tender impulse of her dream.

Flossie was determined that whatever else she failed in she would not
fail in her woman's trade. She would have considered her