cessary inroad into his pocket-book. With my refusal he grew
insistent, and at last consented, only with reluctance, to a modest
repast of welsh-rabbit and beer.

"And the beer at once," he commanded the waiter.

Then, unfolding his napkin on his knees and lighting a cigarette, he
looked over my shoulder to the distant table where the two heads were
close together over the litter of plates and glasses. "So you know
Talcott and Grant," he went on. "I'm sorry you didn't introduce me,
Malcolm. I've seen them around, of course, but, strangely, have never
met them. They are a great pair--stacks of money--Grant especially.
Talcott was in Harvard with me--was rather a snob and went with the
rich crowd--very smart now. He was one of Willie Ruyter's ushers."

I smiled with compassion at this broken discourse. It brought to my
mind Mrs. Bannister. Tom Marshall and Mrs. Bannister looked at life
from the same view-point and I from one entirely different. To my mind
there was nothing very remarkable in having my existence acknowledged
by two very muddled young men, who in their present state acknowledged
also their brotherhood with the _roue_ whom I had seen in the next room
or the cabman sitting outside on his box in a half-stupor. I might
envy the good fortune which allowed them to move in the same world as
Penelope Blight, but to disavow intimacy with them, even to one so
strangely ambitious as Tom Marshall, called for no loss of pride. With
some show of temper I avowed that I hardly knew them. I had only met
them once or twice at the house of friends. But the sincerity with
which I disowned them served only to heighten the new-born respect with
which Marshall treated me. He did not know that I "went out."
Laughing, I retorted that I never did go out. He said that I must;
that he would take me out; he would present me to the right people. He
launched into the delights of going out and the necessity of going out
if a man was to be anybody at all; then suddenly stopped at the thought
that the beer ordered at once was very slow in coming.

"That waiter is always confoundedly slow," he said. "I should have
insisted on having Andrew. I apologize, Malcolm--I should have thought
of Andrew. You would have enjoyed Andrew."

"Andrew?" I repeated, questioning.

"Yes, Andrew," replied Marshall. "Here's the beer. Now, George, hurry
those rabbits--I'm famished. Andrew," he went on, lighting a fresh
cigarette, "is a