d to conversation between the
other two guests, who were properly arch because of the occasion, but
disappointed in their dinner, and anxious to shake their heads and lift
shocked hands as soon as they could get out of their hostess's sight.

For Maurice, the whole endless hour was a seesaw between the past and
the present, between his new dignity and his old irresponsibility. He
tried--at first with boisterous familiarity, then with ponderous
condescension--to draw his friends out. What would Eleanor think of
them--the idiots! And what would she think of him, for having such
asinine friends? He hoped Mort was showing his brains to her! He
mentally cursed Hastings because he did not produce his jokes; as for
Brown, he was a kid. "I oughtn't to have asked him! What _will_ Eleanor
think of him!" He was thankful when dessert came and the boys stopped
their fatuous murmurings to little Rose, to gorge themselves with ice
cream. He talked loudly to cover up their silence, and glanced
constantly at his watch, in the hope that it was time to pack 'em all
off to the theater! Yet, even with his acute discomfort, he had moments
of pride--for there was Eleanor sitting at the head of the table, silent
and handsome, and making old Mort crazy about her! In spite of those
asses of boys, he was very proud. He had simply made a mistake in
inviting Hastings and Brown; "Tom Morton's all right," he told himself;
"but, great Scott! how young those other two are!"

When the evening was over (the theater part of it was a success, for the
play was good, and Maurice had nearly bankrupted himself on a box), and
he and Eleanor were alone, he drew her down on the little sofa of their
sitting room, and worshiped. "Oh, Star, how wonderful you are!"

"Did I do everything right?" She was breathless with happiness. "I tried
so hard! But I _can't_ talk. I never know what to say."

"You were perfect! And they were all such idiots--except Mort. Mort told
me you were very temperamental, and had a wonderful mind. I said, 'You
bet she has!' The old ladies were pills."

"Oh, Maurice, you goose!... Maurice, what will Mr. Houghton say?"

"Hell say, 'Bless you, my children!' Nelly, what _was_ the matter with
the dinner?"

"Matter? Why, it was perfect! It was"--she made a dash for some of his
own words--"simply corking! Though perhaps Rose was a little too young
for it. Didn't you enjoy it?" she demanded, astonished.

He said that if she enjoyed it, that w