but they think you are
unexpectedly nice as a private person."

"That's something. And does Mrs. Westangle think I'm the actor, too?"

"How should Mrs. Westangle know what she thinks? And if she doesn't, how
should I?"

"That's true. And are you going to give me away?"

"I haven't done it yet. But isn't it best to be honest?"

"It mightn't be a success."

"The honesty?"

"My literary celebrity."

"There's that," Miss Macroyd rejoiced. "Well, so far I've merely said
I was sure you were not Verrian the actor. I'll think the other part
over." She went on up-stairs, with the sound of her laugh following her,
and Verrian went gloomily back to the billiard-room, where he found
most of the smokers conspicuously yawning. He lighted a fresh cigar,
and while he smoked they dropped away one by one till only Bushwick was
left.

"Some of the fellows are going Thursday," he said. "Are you going to
stick it out to the bitter end?"

Till then it had not occurred to Verrian that he was not going to stay
through the week, but now he said, "I don't know but I may go Thursday.
Shall you?"

"I might as well stay on. I don't find much doing in real estate at
Christmas. Do you?"

This was fishing, but it was better than openly taking him for that
actor, and Verrian answered, unresentfully, "I don't know. I'm not in
that line exactly."

"Oh, I beg your pardon," Bushwick said. "I thought I had seen your name
with that of a West Side concern."

"No, I have a sort of outside connection with the publishing business."

"Oh," Bushwick returned, politely, and it would have been reassuringly
if Verrian had wished not to be known as an author. The secret in which
he lived in that regard was apparently safe from that young, amiable,
good-looking real-estate broker. He inferred, from the absence of any
allusion to the superstition of the women as to his profession, that it
had not spread to Bushwick at least, and this inclined him the more
to like him. They sat up talking pleasantly together about impersonal
affairs till Bushwick finished his cigar. Then he started for bed,
saying, "Well, good-night. I hope Mrs. Westangle won't have anything so
active on the tapis for tomorrow."

"Try and sleep it off. Good-night."

XV.

Verrian remained to finish his cigar, but at the end he was not yet
sleepy, and he thought he would get a book from the library, if
that part of the house were still lighted, and he looked out to see.
Appa