s seemed to grow even
paler; but Quair, as though perfectly unconscious of this man's record
with the wife of his closest friend, and of the rumors which connected
him so seriously with Cecile White, swung his leg unconcernedly, where
it dangled over the table's edge, and smiled frankly and knowingly upon
Graylock:

"There's always somebody to marry that sort of girl; all mush isn't
on the breakfast table. When you and I are ready to quit, Graylock,
Providence has created a species of man who settles our bills."

He threw back his head, inhaled the smoke of his cigarette, sent two
thin streams through his nose.

"Maybe Drene may marry her himself. But--I don't believe he'll have
to.... Now, about those contracts--" he affected a yawn, "--go on and
tell him, Guilder," he added, his words distorted by another yawn.

He stepped down to the floor from his perch on the table, stretched his
arms, looking affably all the while at Graylock, who had never moved a
muscle.

"I believe you had a run-in with that Cecile girl once, didn't you,
Graylock? Like the rest of us, eh? Oh, well--my hat off to old Drene
if he wins out. I hold no malice. After all, Graylock, what's a woman
between friends?"

And he nodded gaily at Graylock and sauntered leisurely to the window.

And kept his back turned, fearful of exploding with laughter in the very
face of the man who had been staring at him out of pale, unchanging eyes
so steadily and so long.

Guilder's patient, bored, but moderate voice was raised once more:

"In regard to the letting of these contracts--"

But Graylock, staring at Quair's back, neither heeded nor heard him, for
his brain was still ringing with the mockery of Quair's words--"What is
a woman between friends?" And now, for the first time, he was beginning
to understand what the answer might be.

III

She had not posed for Drene during the last two weeks, and he had begun
to miss her, after his own fashion--that is, he thought of her when not
preoccupied and sometimes desired her companionship when unoccupied.

And one evening he went to his desk, rummaged among note-books, and
scribbled sheets of paper, until he found her address, which he could
never remember, wrote it down on another slip of paper, pocketed it, and
went out to his dinner.

But as he dined, other matters reoccupied his mind, matters
professional, schemes little and great, broad and in detail, which
gradually, though not excluding he