n had watched the scene with a rather weary interest. He was,
indeed, trying to put himself in Graham's place, at Graham's age. He
remembered once, at twenty, having slipped off to see "The Black Crook,"
then the epitome of wickedness, and the disillusionment of seeing women
in tights with their accentuated curves and hideous lack of appeal to
the imagination. The caterers of such wares had learned since then. Here
were soft draperies instead, laces and chiffons. The suggestion was not
to the eyes but to the mind. How devilishly clever it all was.

Perhaps there were some things he ought to discuss with Graham. He
wondered how a man led up to such a thing.

Nolan bent toward him.

"I've been watching for a girl," he said, "but I don't see her. Last
time I was here I came with Chris. She was his girl."

"Chris!"

"Yes. It stumped me, at first. She came and sat with us, not a bad
little thing, but--Good Lord, Clay, ignorant and not even pretty! And
Chris was fastidious, in a way. I don't understand it."

The ancient perplexity of a man over the sex selections of his friends
puckered his forehead.

"Damned if I understand it," he repeated.

A great wave of pity for Audrey Valentine surged in Clayton Spencer's
heart. She had known it, of course; that was why Chris had gone away.
How long had she known it? She was protecting Chris's name, even now.
For all her frivolity, there was something rather big in Audrey. The way
she had held up at her dinner, for instance--and he rather fancied
that the idea of his going into the army had come from her, directly or
indirectly. So Chris, from being a fugitive, was already by way of being
a hero to his friends.

Poor Audrey!

He made a mental note to send her some flowers in the morning.

He ordered them on his way down-town, and for some curious reason she
was in his mind most of the day. Chris had been a fool to throw away a
thing so worth having. Not every man had behind him a woman of Audrey's
sort.

CHAPTER VIII

That afternoon, accompanied by a rather boyishly excited elderly
clergyman, he took two hours off from the mill and purchased a new car
for Doctor Haverford.

The rector was divided between pleasure at the gift and apprehension at
its cost, but Clayton, having determined to do a thing, always did it
well.

"Nonsense," he said. "My dear man, the church has owed you this car for
at least ten years. If you get half the pleasure out of using it that