er that Warrington didn't marry Challoner himself. He went around
with her a lot."

Everybody shrugged. You can shrug away a reputation a deal more safely
than you can talk it.

"Oh, Bennington's no ass. She's a woman of brains, anyhow. It's
something better than marrying a little fool of a pretty chorus girl.
She'll probably make things lively for one iron-monger. If the hair
doesn't fly, the money will. He's a good sort of chap, but he wants a
snaffle and a curb on his high-stepper."

Then the topic changed to poker and the marvelous hands held the night
before.

Warrington finished his correspondence, dined alone, and at
seven-thirty started up the street to the Benningtons'. Jove, with the
assurance of one who knows he will be welcomed, approached the
inviting veranda at a gallop. His master, however, followed with a
sense of diffidence. He noted that there was a party of young people
on the veranda. He knew the severe and critical eye of youth, and he
was a bit afraid of himself. Evidently Miss Patty had no lack of
beaux. Miss Patty in person appeared at the top of the steps, and
smiled.

"I was half expecting you," she said, offering a slim cool hand.

Warrington clasped it in his own and gave it a friendly pressure.

"Thank you," he replied. "Please don't disturb yourselves," he
remonstrated, as the young men rose reluctantly from their chairs. "Is
Mrs. Bennington at home?"

"You will find her in the library." Then Patty introduced him. There
was some constraint on the part of the young men. They agreed that,
should the celebrity remain, he would become the center of attraction
at once, and all the bright things they had brought for the dazzlement
of Patty would have to pass unsaid.

To youth, every new-corner is a possible rival; he wouldn't be human
if he didn't believe that each man who comes along is simply bound to
fall in love with the very girl HE has his eyes on.

On the other hand, the young girls regretted that the great dramatist
wasn't going to sit beside them. There is a strange glamour about
these men and women who talk or write to us from over the footlights.
As Warrington disappeared into the hallway, the murmur and frequent
laughter was resumed.

Mrs. Bennington was very glad to see him. She laid aside her book and
made room for him on the divan. They talked about the weather, the
changes that had taken place since the fall, a scrap of foreign travel
of mutual interest, each hoping