ead the conversation to
Evelyn, and make his confession. He mapped out the whole conversation,
and even to the manner in which he would represent his own prospects and
ambitions and his hopes of happiness. Of course Mr. Mavick would evade,
and say that it would be a long time before they should think of
disposing of their daughter's hand, and that--well, he must see himself
that he was in no position to support a wife accustomed to luxury;
in short, that one could not create situations in real life as he could
in novels, that personally he could give him no encouragement,
but that he would consult his wife.

This dream got no further than a private rehearsal. When he called at
Mr. Mavick's office he learned that Mr. Mavick had gone to the Pacific
coast, and that he would probably be absent several weeks. But Philip
could not wait. He resolved to end his torture by a bold stroke.
He wrote to Mrs. Mavick, saying that he had called at Mr. Mavick's
office, and, not finding him at home, he begged that she would give him
an interview concerning a matter of the deepest personal interest to
himself.

Mrs. Mavick understood in an instant what this meant. She had feared it.
Her first impulse was to write him a curt note of a character that would
end at once all intercourse. On second thought she determined to see
him, to discover how far the affair had gone, and to have it out with him
once for all. She accordingly wrote that she would have a few minutes at
half past five the next day.

As Philip went up the steps of the Mavick house at the appointed hour, he
met coming out of the door--and it seemed a bad omen--Lord Montague, who
seemed in high spirits, stared at Philip without recognition, whistled
for his cab, and drove away.

Mrs. Mavick received him politely, and, without offering her hand, asked
him to be seated. Philip was horribly embarrassed. The woman was so
cool, so civil, so perfectly indifferent. He stammered out something
about the weather and the coming spring, and made an allusion to the
dinner at Mrs. Van Cortlandt's. Mrs. Mavick was not in the mood to help
him with any general conversation, and presently said, looking at her
watch:

"You wrote me that you wanted to consult me. Is there anything I can do
for you?"

"It was a personal matter," said Philip, getting control of himself.

"So you wrote. Mr. Mavick is away, and if it is in regard to anything in
your office, any promotion, you know, I don't und