ution on some of
the lighter aspects of Blank Street. And I couldn't help comparing
again the philosophy of this girl, the philosophy of helpfulness, with
the bestial selfishness of the point of view of the so-called
Freudians who, as I have been credibly informed, only live to glut
themselves with the filth of their own baser instincts.
Self-elimination as against self-expression, or since we are
brute-born, merely self-animalization! Una Habberton's philosophy and
Marcia Van Wyck's! Any but a blind man could run and read, or if need
be, read and run.

Mrs. Habberton was tired and went up early, her daughter accompanying
her. I saw Jerry eyeing the girl rather wistfully at the foot of the
stair. I think he was pleading with her to come down again but she
only smiled at him brightly and I heard her say, "Tomorrow, Jerry."

"Shall we fish?"

"That will be fine."

"Just you and I?"

"If you think," and she laughed with careless gayety, "if you think
Marcia won't object."

"Oh, I say--" But his jaw fell and he frowned a little.

"Good-night, Jerry, dear," she flung at him from the curve of the
landing.

"Good-night, Una," he called.

The telephone bell rang the next morning before the breakfast hour and
Jerry was called to it. I was in my study and the door was open. I
couldn't help hearing. Marcia Van Wyck was on the wire. I couldn't
hear her voice but Jerry's replies were illuminating.

"I couldn't," I heard him say, "I had guests to dinner."

Fortunately neither Una nor her mother was down.

"I didn't tell you," he replied to her question. "It was--er--rather
sudden. Miss Habberton and her mother. They're staying here for a few
days. How are you--? Oh, I don't see why you--What difference does
that make--? Won't you come over this afternoon? Please. Why not--?
I'm awfully anxious to see you. Why, I couldn't, Marcia, not just now
and besides--What--?"

Apparently she had rung off. He tried to get her number and when he
got it came away from the instrument suddenly, for the girl had
evidently refused to talk to him.

At the breakfast table, to which the ladies but not Jack Ballard
descended, he was very quiet. I pitied him, but led the conversation
into easy paths in which after a while he joined us. I saw Una
glancing at him curiously, but no personal comment passed and when we
went out on the shaded terrace to look down toward the lake, over the
shimmering summer landscape, Una took a deep breath and