led herself on your account. Everybody seems
to be on to it. I heard it--oh, nearly a month ago."

"Oh," said Vandover with a short laugh, "that's it, is it? I was
wondering."

"Yes, that's it," answered Geary. "You see they don't know for sure; no
one _knows_, but all at once every one seemed to be talking about it,
and they suspect an awful lot. I guess they are pretty near right,
aren't they?" He did not wait for an answer, but laughed clumsily and
went on: "You see, you always have to be awfully careful in those
things, or you'll get into a box. Ah, you bet I don't let any girl _I_
go with know _my_ last name or _my_ address if I can help it. I'm clever
enough for that; you have to manage very carefully; ah, you bet! You
ought to have looked out for that, old man!" He paused a moment and then
went on: "Oh, I guess it will be all right, all right, in a little
while. They will forget about it, you know. I wouldn't worry. I guess it
will be all right."

"Yes," answered Vandover absently, "I guess so--perhaps."

A few days later Vandover was in the reading-room of the Mechanics
Library, listlessly turning over the pages of a volume of _l'Art_. It
was Saturday morning and the place was full of ladies who were downtown
for their shopping and marketing, and who had come in either to change
their books or to keep appointments with each other. On a sudden
Vandover saw Turner just passing into the Biography alcove. He got up
and followed her. She was standing at the end of the dim book-lined
tunnel, searching the upper shelves, her head and throat bent back, and
her gloved finger on her lip. The faint odour of the perfume she always
affected came to him mingled with the fragrance of the jonquils at her
belt and the smell of leather and of books that exhaled from the shelves
on either side. He did not offer to take her hand, but came up slowly,
speaking in a low voice.

It was the last time that Vandover ever met Turner Ravis. They talked
for upward of an hour, leaning against the opposite book-shelves,
Vandover with his fists in his pockets, his head bent down, and the
point of his shoe tracing the pattern in the linoleum carpet; Turner,
her hands clasped in front of her, looking him squarely in the face,
speaking calmly and frankly.

"Now, I hope you see just how it is, Van," she said at length. "What has
happened hasn't made me cease to care for you, because if I had really
cared for you the way I thought I did, the