hat would Edith say?"

That was a poser. Who in thunder was Edith? But I felt that I was on
the right track. "As for Edith," I returned, "I don't believe she
would object."

She shook her head wisely. "Well, _per_-haps not. But even ten years'
friendship has its breaking point. And a wife----" She stopped there.
She seemed to be considering the question.

"Doesn't it depend upon who is the wife?" I interpolated. Now I should
learn if it was really I who was married.

"Yes," she admitted. "But _yours_! Oh, I know Edith! Better even than
you do. I knew her long before you had even heard of her, and I could
have told you things which would have been--useful to you--if only you
had come to me first."

The thought was alluring. "I wish I had," I said, with more fervor
than discretion.

She turned upon me quickly, and her face was very close to my own for
an instant. Through the veil I managed to get a glimpse of her eyes.
They pleased me immensely. "Why? Why? What do you mean?" she asked.
There was a soft little lift to her voice which affected me queerly. I
made sure that some part of me had made a short circuit with one of
the battery wires. Then she lifted her chin. "But--nonsense!" she
said. "How could you? I was in a convent school when you met and
married Edith."

"And you haven't seen her since?"

"Since she was married? You know I haven't, you goose! Why, it is
tonight I make my _entree_ into the world of fashion?"

"At Agawan," I hazarded.

She nodded. "Where else? And _you_ are to dance with me many times.
Remember, I know none of the men there."

For the first time in my life I ceased to feel scorn for an
accomplishment which I did not possess. But dancing, I reflected, was
of the future, and the future must provide against itself. "Margery"
was very much of the present. Then abruptly it occurred to me that the
present would soon be of the past if we continued to travel as we were
now moving; and I promptly cut down our speed by one-half. I explained
that the rest of the road to the club was dangerous at night.

She gave a little shiver. "And there is no other road?"

I remembered that there was--a longer road--and at the first turn to
the right I took to it. In a way it was a safer road, and if there was
an accident--what would "Edith" say?

We slipped along in silence for a while. Then I asked her if she was
warm enough. It was a balmy evening, with the faintest of air
stirring. She laughed.