people are talking about you!" was her reply.
"You are quite the lion of the evening. It must be very gratifying to
you."

"Do you know," replied Paul, "that I am not so unsophisticated as not
to know the value of these things?"

She looked at him inquiringly.

"I can see how much a moment's popularity is worth," he said, almost
bitterly. "A lifetime of good work is passed by unnoticed, but if one
happens to make a speech that causes a certain amount of discussion, no
matter how silly it may be, one gets noticed until someone else
appears. And my speech was a very poor one! I feel ashamed every time
I am complimented on it!"

There was something in the way he spoke that annoyed her, why she could
not tell. "Then I will not add to your shame," she said.

"No," he replied eagerly. "But I do want you to think well of it even
although I know it was a failure. I have been wondering lately if I
should meet you, and I was afraid once or twice lest I had seen you."

"I do not quite understand."

"I am comparatively new to this sort of function," said Paul. "And, to
tell you the truth, I have been very weary of it all."

"How disappointed your hostess would be if she knew!"

"No," said Paul, "I don't deserve that. But I suppose it's because I
have not been brought up in this world. I am a plain, humble fellow,
and have had to work my way through the grimy and sordid things of
life. Still, there's something real in it, something healthy, too,
compared with this--at least, some of it. The other night I was at a
banquet, and I was afraid I saw you. You see, I have all sorts of
old-fashioned ideas. I'm a Puritan of a sort, and am what these people
would call bourgeois."

"What in the world do you mean?"

"I saw a girl who looked like you smoking a cigarette. She had the
same coloured hair, and bore such a strong resemblance to you that my
heart became as heavy as lead. A little later I saw the same girl, or
someone very much like her, drinking a liqueur. Of course, it seemed
quite the order of the day, and I ought not to be shocked, but had it
been you I should have been very sad."

"Why, what is there so terrible in a cigarette or a liqueur?" asked
Mary Bolitho.

"I don't know, I'm sure," he replied.

"You'd have taken no notice if a man smoked a cigarette or drank a
liqueur. Is a woman different from a man?"

"She ought to be," said Paul. "At least, so it seems to me; but then,
as I tell you