n surrendered its
troubling; the waking somnolence settled over him. He was conscious of
his surrounding, recognized its actuality; yet, at the same time, it
seemed immaterial, like the setting of a dream. He roused himself after
a little and smoked, nodding his head to emphasize the points of his
thought.

This Polder had shown the instinct of breeding; while Mariana was--just
what she was he couldn't for the life of him determine. A hussy, he
decided temporarily. After all, his own time, when black and white had
been distinguishable, was best. Howat Penny relinquished, with a sigh,
the effort to penetrate to-day; he was content to be left behind; out of
the grinding rush, the dizzy speed, of progression. His day, when black
had been black, was immeasurably superior; the women had been more
charming, the men erect, clothed in proper garb and pride. Where, now,
could be seen such an audience as Dr. Damrosch had gathered for his
first season of German opera? Not, certainly, at the performance he had
heard with Mariana two, no--three, winters ago. A vulgarized performance
in the spirit of a boulevard cafe. The whole present air, he told
himself, was wrong.

He looked at his watch, and was surprised to see that it was past ten.
Not a sound came from the porch; and he determined to go outside,
exercise the discretion which Mariana had cast to the winds. However, he
didn't stir; he could not summon the energy necessary for the combating
of their impetuous youth. He unfolded a paper, but it drooped on his
knees, slid, finally, to the floor. Then Mariana appeared, walked
swiftly, without a word, through the room, and vanished upstairs. Not
even a civil period at the end of the evening. After another, long wait
James Polder entered. The latter stood uneasily by the table, with a
furrowed brow, a ridiculous, twitching mouth.

Polder went out into the dining room; where, through the doorway, Howat
Penny could see him hovering over the silver basket of oranges, placed
upon the sideboard. "If you don't mind," he called back, and there were
a rattle of knives, a thin ring of glass. The light was dim beyond, and
he stood in the doorway with the brandy decanter and orange juice. He
drained the mixture and leaned, absorbed, against the woodwork. "This is
a hell of a world!" he exclaimed suddenly. "Everything worth having is
fenced off. A woman won't understand. Does any one suppose that I don't
want Mariana! It's the responsibility.