opportunity of mixing much in dramatic circles. It's real kind of her to
have asked me, I must say. I didn't even remember her."

"No one ever remembers her. But it's amusing and absurd. You'll meet
some of the people you like. Flora will show you round--point out all
the obscurities there, and so forth. Oh, she's a good soul--old Flora."

"Is she old, Harry?"

"About twenty-three, or thirty-three. I like her, though she's rather a
snob."

"Ah, they say all Americans are snobs, Harry, but I feel sure I'm not.
Still, if I really liked a man I can't say I should turn against him
even if he had a title."

"And if I really hated a person I should never get to like him, even if
he had a bad reputation."

Van Buren looked surprised and impressed, also delighted.

"Is that a paradox, or an epigram, Harry?"

"I can't think!"

"Won't you tell me what it is?"

"It's bosh," said Harry impressively, "mere bosh!"

"Tell me what you really mean by it."

"How should I know? I haven't the very slightest idea," Harry said,
stretching himself.

Van Buren looked thoughtfully out of the window.

"How do you suppose our ro-mances will end?"

"As badly as possible; romances always do," said Harry. "We ought to be
only too thankful that they end at all."

"Why, I'm afraid you're a pessimist! How do you define a pessimist,
Harry?"

"What a mania you have for definition, old chap! I think I agree with
the little girl who said that an optimist is the man who looks after
your eyes, and the pessimist the person who looks after your feet."

"Why, that's very subtle. I quite see what she means. There's a lot in
that idea, Harry." He thought gravely.

"Is there? Well, come out to lunch."

CHAPTER XII

A HOME CHAT

"Yes, Romer, on the whole I don't think our season's been a success.
With any amount of struggle, worry, bother, clothes, motoring, and
making up parties, we've just succeeded in not getting Daphne married to
Van Buren, and putting your mother in a perpetual, constant, lasting bad
temper."

"Have we?" said Romer.

He was sitting in an arm-chair listening, as usual, while Valentia
talked. He did not always understand what she was saying, nor did he
even always know the subject she was discussing, but he loved to hear
her voice, that was like an incantation in his ears. He said a few words
occasionally, desiring that the musical sound should continue.

"All our old friends seem to have grown dull and