the other type, like these Arthur fellows, and Dave Allan and T.
Fordham Brown, who go in for afternoon teas and such gentlemanly
pastimes, and whose most strenuous exercise is a game of billiards.
Shucks, there isn't a real man in the lot. Maybe I'll run across some
people who don't take a two-by-four view of life if I stay around here
long enough, but it hasn't happened to me yet. I hope I'm not an
intellectual snob, little person, any more than I'm puffed up over
happening to be a little bigger and stronger than the average man, but
I must say that the habitual conversation of these people gives me a
pain. That platitudinous discussion of the play to-night, for
instance."

"That _was_ droll." Hazel chuckled at the recollection, and she
recalled the weary look that had once or twice flitted over Bill's face
during that after-theater supper.

But she herself could see only the humor of it. She was fascinated by
the social niceties and the surroundings of the set she had drifted
into. The little dinners, the impromptu teas, the light chatter and
general atmosphere of luxury more than counterbalanced any other lack.
She wanted only to play, and she was prepared to seize avidly on any
form of pleasure, no matter if in last analysis it were utterly
frivolous. She could smile at the mental vacuity she encountered, and
think nothing of it, if with that vacuity went those material factors
which made for ease and entertainment. The physical side of her was
all alert. Luxury and the mild excitements of a social life that took
nothing seriously, those were the things she craved. For a long time
she had been totally deprived of them. Nor had such unlimited
opportunities ever before been in her grasp.

"Yes, that was droll," she repeated.

Bill snorted.

"Droll? Perhaps," he said. "Blatant ignorance, coupled with a desire
to appear the possessor of culture, is sometimes amusing. But as a
general thing it simply irritates."

"You're hard to please," she replied. "Can't you enjoy yourself, take
things as they come, without being so critical?"

He shrugged his shoulders, and remained silent.

"Well," he said presently, "we'll take that jaunt to New York day after
to-morrow."

He was still sitting by the window when Hazel was ready to go to bed.
She came back into the room in a trailing silk kimono, and, stealing
softly up behind him, put both hands on his shoulders.

"What are you thinking so hard about,