r, and she's the kind
of girl you think you can read like a book. But you can't; don't fool
yourself. Take a good look at her at dinner, Blake; you won't lose your
head like the other fellows--and then tell me what's wrong with her.
We're mighty fond of Allie."

He went ponderously up the steps, for Sam had put on weight since I knew
him. At the door he turned around. "Do you happen to know the MacLures
at Seal Harbor?" he asked irrelevantly, but Mrs. Sam came into the hall
just then, both hands out to greet me, and, whatever Forbes had meant to
say, he did not pick up the subject again.

"We are having tea in here," Dorothy said gaily, indicating the door
behind her. "Tea by courtesy, because I think tea is the only beverage
that isn't represented. And then we must dress, for this is hop night at
the club."

"Which is as great a misnomer as the tea," Sam put in, ponderously
struggling out of his linen driving coat. "It's bridge night, and the
only hops are in the beer."

He was still gurgling over this as he took me upstairs. He showed me my
room himself, and then began the fruitless search for evening raiment
that kept me home that night from the club. For I couldn't wear Sam's
clothes. That was clear, after a perspiring seance of a half hour.

"I won't do it, Sam," I said, when I had draped his dress-coat on me
toga fashion. "Who am I to have clothing to spare, like this, when many
a poor chap hasn't even a cellar door to cover him. I won't do it; I'm
selfish, but not that selfish."

"Lord," he said, wiping his face, "how you've kept your figure! I can't
wear a belt any more; got to have suspenders."

He reflected over his grievance for some time, sitting on the side of
the bed. "You could go as you are," he said finally. "We do it all the
time, only to-night happens to be the annual something or other, and--"
he trailed off into silence, trying to buckle my belt around him. "A
good six inches," he sighed. "I never get into a hansom cab any more
that I don't expect to see the horse fly up into the air. Well,
Allie isn't going either. She turned down Granger this afternoon, the
Annapolis fellow you met on the stairs, pigeon-breasted chap--and she
always gets a headache on those occasions."

He got up heavily and went to the door. "Granger is leaving," he said,
"I may be able to get his dinner coat for you. How well do you know
her?" he asked, with his hand on the knob.

"If you mean Dolly--?"

"Alison."