lf as typical," she continued. "When I was twenty I could
have loved you. You were the type of man I did love."

Mr. Halliday, who had been supporting the weight of his body upon his
right leg, transferred the burden to his left.

"But now I'm thirty-five; and I couldn't love you if I tried." She shook
her curls at him. "It isn't your fault. It is that I have changed.
Suppose I'd married you?"

"Bit of bad luck for both of us," suggested Mr. Halliday.

"A tragedy," Miss Tolley corrected him. "There are millions of such
tragedies being enacted around us at this moment. Sensitive women
compelled to suffer the embraces of men that they have come to loathe.
What's to be done?"

Flossie, who had been hovering impatient, broke in.

"Oh, don't you believe her," she advised Mr. Halliday. "She loves you
still. She's only teasing you. This is Joan."

She introduced her. Miss Tolley bowed; and allowed herself to be drawn
away by a lank-haired young man who had likewise been waiting for an
opening. He represented the Uplift Film Association of Chicago, and was
wishful to know if Miss Tolley would consent to altering the last chapter
and so providing "Running Waters" with a happy ending. He pointed out
the hopelessness of it in its present form, for film purposes.

The discussion was brief. "Then I'll send your agent the contract to-
morrow," Joan overheard him say a minute later.

Mr. Sam Halliday she liked at once. He was a clean-shaven, square-jawed
young man, with quiet eyes and a pleasant voice.

"Try and find me brainy," he whispered to her, as soon as Flossie was out
of earshot. "Talk to me about China. I'm quite intelligent on China."

They both laughed, and then shot a guilty glance in Flossie's direction.

"Do the women really crush their feet?" asked Joan.

"Yes," he answered. "All those who have no use for them. About one per
cent. of the population. To listen to Miss Tolley you would think that
half the women wanted a new husband every ten years. It's always the one
per cent. that get themselves talked about. The other ninety-nine are
too busy."

"You are young for a philosopher," said Joan.

He laughed. "I told you I'd be all right if you started me on China," he
said.

"Why are you marrying. Flossie?" Joan asked him. She thought his point
of view would be interesting.

"Not sure I am yet," he answered with a grin. "It depends upon how I get
through this evening." He glanc