t go and tell Louise that you are in love with Frankie
Taliaferro."

"Tell Louise? Why, Ruth, it would kill her. You don't know her. She
wouldn't let me off. You don't know how a girl in love feels. Ruth, were
you ever in love?"

"That is not a pertinent question," I said. "It comes quite near being
the other thing. But let me tell you, Charlie Hardy, I know Louise King,
and it won't kill her. You know 'men have died and worms have eaten them,
but not for love.' That might be said of women." (I didn't know, Tabby,
whether it might or might not. I couldn't afford to let him see my doubts,
if I had any.) "We don't die as easily as you men seem to think."

"But is this your view of what is right?" he asked. "I was sure you would
counsel the other. I've been fortifying myself to give Frankie up and
marry Louise, and, with all due respect to you, I must say that I think
you are wrong here. You must remember that my honor is involved."

"Bother your honor!" I cried explosively. Charlie seemed rather pleased
than otherwise at my inelegance. "I am tired to death of hearing men fall
back on nonsense about their honor. I notice they seldom feel called upon
to refer to it unless they are involved in something disreputable."

Charlie straightened up at this and settled his coat with an indignant
jerk.

"I hardly think," he began stiffly, "that I am involved in anything
disreputable in being engaged to Miss King."

"What are a man's debts of honor?" I went on with growing excitement.
"Gaming debts and things he would scarcely care to explain to the public
at large. Your honor is involved in this, is it? And you must save your
honor at all hazards, no matter who goes to the wall in the process! I
suppose if you made the rash vow that, if your horse won the race, you
would cut your mother's head off, while you were still in the flush of
victory, you would seize your bowie-knife and go to work! No? Oh, yes,
Charlie. Your honor, as you call it, is involved. I insist upon it. You
must do it. Oh, I am going too far, am I? Not one step further than men go
in the mire whither their honor leads them. Debts of honor, indeed! Debts
of dishonor I call them. So do most women."

"Yes, but, Ruth," interrupted Charlie uneasily, "an engagement is
different. I don't dispute what you say in regard to gambling debts--"

"You can't," I murmured rebelliously.

"--but a man can't, with any decency, ask a girl to release him when he
has sought h