"Why?"

"Oh, nothing," he answered, "only just now you referred to her as Enid."

This was remarkable, as I had not seen Enid for years, and had quite
forgotten her. Somehow it took the glitter out of the conversation. A
dozen sentences later Dick stopped me again with:--

"Who's Julia?"

I began to get irritated. Julia, I remembered, had been cashier in a
city restaurant, and had, when I was little more than a boy, almost
inveigled me into an engagement. I found myself getting hot at the
recollection of the spooney rhapsodies I had hoarsely poured into her
powder-streaked ear while holding her flabby hand across the counter.

"Did I really say 'Julia'?" I answered somewhat sharply, "or are you
joking?"

"You certainly alluded to her as Julia," he replied mildly. "But never
mind, you go on as you like, I shall know whom you mean."

But the flame was dead within me. I tried to rekindle it, but every time
I glanced up and met the green eyes of the black Tom it flickered out
again. I recalled the thrill that had penetrated my whole being when
Naomi's hand had accidently touched mine in the conservatory, and
wondered whether she had done it on purpose. I thought how good and
sweet she was to that irritatingly silly old frump her mother, and
wondered if it really were her mother, or only hired. I pictured her
crown of gold-brown hair as I had last seen it with the sunlight kissing
its wanton waves, and felt I would like to be quite sure that it were all
her own.

Once I clutched the flying skirts of my enthusiasm with sufficient
firmness to remark that in my own private opinion a good woman was more
precious than rubies; adding immediately afterwards--the words escaping
me unconsciously before I was aware even of the thought--"pity it's so
difficult to tell 'em."

Then I gave it up, and sat trying to remember what I had said to her the
evening before, and hoping I had not committed myself.

Dick's voice roused me from my unpleasant reverie.

"No," he said, "I thought you would not be able to. None of them can."

"None of them can what?" I asked. Somehow I was feeling angry with Dick
and with Dick's cat, and with myself and most other things.

"Why talk love or any other kind of sentiment before old Pyramids here?"
he replied, stroking the cat's soft head as it rose and arched its back.

"What's the confounded cat got to do with it?" I snapped.

"That's just what I can't tell you," he answered, "