ave an engagement
next Sunday. I have a great many engagements just now. Without looking at
my book I couldn't say when I can go." This easily and naturally. In her
set they certainly do learn thoroughly that branch of tact which plain
people call lying.

Sam gave her a grateful look, which he thought I didn't see, and which I
didn't rightly interpret--then.

"We'll fix it up later, Blacklock," said he.

"All right," said I. And from that minute I was almost silent. It was
something in her tone and manner that silenced me. I suddenly realized that
I wasn't making as good an impression as I had been flattering myself.

When a man has money and is willing to spend it, he can readily fool
himself into imagining he gets on grandly with women. But I had better
grounds than that for thinking myself not unattractive to them, as a rule.
Women had liked me when I had nothing; women had liked me when they didn't
know who I was. I felt that this woman did not like me. And yet, by the way
she looked at me in spite of her efforts not to do so, I could tell that
I had some sort of unusual interest for her. Why didn't she like me? She
made me feel the reason. I didn't belong to her world. My ways and my looks
offended her. She disliked me a good deal; she feared me a little. She
would have felt safer if she had been gratifying her curiosity, gazing in
at me through the bars of a cage.

Where I had been feeling and showing my usual assurance, I now became ill
at ease. I longed for them to be gone; at the same time I hated to let her
go--for, when and how would I see her again, would I get the chance to
remove her bad impression? It irritated me thus to be concerned about the
sister of a man into my liking for whom there was mixed much pity and some
contempt. But I am of the disposition that, whenever I see an obstacle of
whatever kind, I can not restrain myself from trying to jump it. Here was
an obstacle--a dislike. To clear it was of the smallest importance in the
world, was a silly waste of time. Yet I felt I could not maintain with
myself my boast that there were no obstacles I couldn't get over, if I
turned aside from this.

Sam--not without hesitation, as I recalled afterward--left me with her,
when I sent him to bring her brougham up to the Broadway entrance. As she
and I were standing there alone, waiting in silence, I turned on her
suddenly, and blurted out, "You don't like me."

She reddened a little, smiled slightly.