hn who allowed himself to be loved? The
signs of this did not occur before his eyes. Of course, Charley would
not stay fooled forever; the hours of that were numbered,--but their
number was quite beyond my guessing!

How much would Charley stand? He would stand a good deal, because the
measure of his toleration was the measure of his desire for Hortense;
and it was plain that he wanted her very much indeed. But how much
would John stand? How soon would his "fire-eating" traditions produce a
"difficulty"? Why had they not done this already? Well, the garden had
in some way helped me to frame a fairly reasonable answer for this also.
Poor Hortense had become as powerless to woo John to warmth as poor
Venus had been with Adonis; and passion, in changing sides, had advanced
the boy's knowledge. He knew now the difference between the embraces
of his lady when she had merely wanted his phosphates, and these other
caresses now that, she wanted him. In his ceaseless search for some
possible loophole of escape, his eye could not have overlooked the
chance that lay in Charley, and he was far too canny to blast his
forlorn hope. He had probably wondered what had changed the nature of
Hortense's caresses, and the adventure of the torn money could scarce
have failed to suggest itself to the mind of a youth who, little as
he had trodden the ways of the world, evidently possessed some lively
instincts regarding the nature of women. To batter Charley as he had
battered Juno's nephew, might result in winding the arms of Hortense
around his own neck more tightly than ever.

Why Hortense should keep Charley "on" any longer, was what I could least
fathom, but I trusted her to have excellent reasons for anything that
she did. "It's sure to be quite simple, once you know it," I told
myself; and the near future proved me to be right.

Thus I laid most of my enigmas to rest; there was but one which now
and then awakened still. Were Hortense a raw girl of eighteen, I could
easily grant that the "fire-eater" in John would be sure to move her.
But Hortense had travelled many miles away from the green forests of
romance; her present fields were carpeted, not with grass and flowers,
but with Oriental mats and rugs, and it was electric lights, not the
moon and stars, that shone upon her highly seasoned nights. No, torn
money and all, it was not appropriate in a woman of her experience; and
so I still found myself inquiring in the words of Beverly