Mable."

Soon after his talk with Miss Enid he decided to call upon Mr. Chester,
not because Mr. Chester was an enlivening companion, but because he was
so touchingly grateful for the casual friendship that Quin bestowed upon
him.

"He's so sort of lonesome," Quin told Miss Leaks. "When he looks at me
with those big dog eyes of his, I feel like scratching him back of his
ear."

Mr. Chester, in his small but tastefully furnished bachelor apartment,
outdid himself in his efforts to be hospitable. He insisted upon Quin
taking the best chair, gave him a good cigar, showed him some rare first
editions, displayed his collection of musical instruments, and struggled
valiantly to establish a common footing. But there was only one subject
upon which they could find anything to say, and they came back again and
again to the affairs of the Bartlett family.

"Why don't you ever come around and see the folks?" Quin asked
hospitably. "They get awful lonesome with so few people dropping in."

Mr. Chester in evident embarrassment flicked the ash from his cigar and
answered guardedly:

"I used to be there a great deal in the old days. Unfortunately, Madam
Bartlett and I had a misunderstanding. As a matter of fact, I have not
crossed that threshold in--let me see--it must be fifteen years! It was a
party, I remember, given for Eleanor, the little granddaughter, on her
fifth birthday."

"Oh, yes!" said Quin, finding Mr. Chester for the first time interesting.
"They've got a picture of her taken with Miss Enid in her party dress."

"I suppose you mean this?" Mr. Chester reached over and took from his
desk a somewhat faded photograph, in a silver frame, of a little girl
leaning against a big girl's shoulders, both enveloped in a cloud of
white tulle.

"Gee, but she was pretty!" exclaimed Quin, devouring every detail of
Eleanor's chubby features.

"A beautiful woman," sighed Mr. Chester--and Quin, looking up suddenly,
surprised a look in his host's eyes that was anything but numerical.

Obligingly relinquishing his application of the pronoun for Mr.
Chester's, he said:

"She certainly thinks a lot of you!"

"How do you know?" demanded Mr. Chester.

"From the way she talks. She says people are barking up the wrong tree
when they think you are cold and indifferent and all that; says you've
got one of the noblest natures _she_ ever knew."

Quin was appalled at the effect of these words. Mr. Chester's eyes got
quite red aroun