ixing him with a glare. "Go way, now; I
won't waste any more time on you," he said, walking off with Bradley.
"Let me see, we were going to the club to-night." He looked down at his
boots. "Yes, they are shined; that puts a dress suit on me." As he
walked along, he referred to Miss Wilbur. "She is a great woman, but
she is abnormal from my point of view."

"Why so?" inquired Bradley.

"Well, look at the life she leads. On the road constantly, living at
hotels. A woman can't hold herself up against such things."

"It depends upon the woman," was Bradley's succinct protest against
sweeping generalizations.

It was crisp and clear, and the sound of their feet rang out in the
still air as if they trod on glass at every step. They talked very
little. Bradley wanted to tell Cargill that he had already met Miss
Wilbur, but he could not see his way clear to make the explanation.
Cargill was unwontedly silent.

The Norwegian girl ushered them into a pretty little parlor, where a
beautiful fire of coal was burning in an open grate. While they stood
warming their stiffened hands at the cheerful blaze, Ida entered.

"Mr. Cargill, this is an unexpected pleasure."

"I wonder how sincere you are in that. This is my friend Mr. Talcott."

Ida moved toward Bradley with her hand cordially extended. "I think we
have met before," she said.

"I call him my friend," said Cargill, "because he has not known me long
enough to become my enemy."

"That is very good, Mr. Cargill. Sit down, won't you? Please give me
your coats." She moved about in that pleasant bustle of reception so
natural to women.

Cargill slid down into a chair in his disjointed fashion. "We came to
attend the intellectual sit-down."

"Why, that doesn't meet to-night! It meets every other Friday, and this
is the other Friday."

"Oh, is it? So much the better; we will see you alone."

Ida turned gravely to Bradley. "Mr. Cargill is not often in this mood.
I generally draw him off into a fight on Mr. Howell's, Thackeray or
Scott."

"She prefers me in armor," Cargill explained, "and on horseback. My
intellectual bowleggedness, so to say, and my moral squint are less
obtrusive at an altitude."

Ida laughed appreciatively. "Your extraordinary choice of figures would
distinguish you among the symbolists of Paris," she replied.

This all seemed very brilliant and droll to Bradley, and he sat with
unwavering eyes fixed upon Ida, who appeared to him in a new light,