bed as a hero of
romance by a girl of superlative charms; and that that girl had just
been the object of the obviously unwelcome attentions of another. He
recognized that the stern but sympathetic husband on the stage would
instantly have come to the rescue of the weak young wife in any similar
situation, and he determined on the instant to do so; but he found a
slight difficulty in making up his mind as to the particular epigram
with which he should enter. In fact, he could think of nothing except,
"Ah, Jane-Ellen, is the ice-cream ready?" And that obviously wouldn't
do.

While, however, he hesitated above, the dialogue below rushed on,
unimpeded.

"The truth is," said the young man, with the violence of one who feels
himself at least partially in the wrong, "the truth is you are a cold,
cruel woman who thinks of nothing but her own amusement; you don't care
anything about the sufferings of others, and in my opinion Lily is worth
ten of you."

"Then why don't you go and kiss Lily?"

"Because Lily isn't that sort. She wouldn't stand it."

This reply not unnaturally angered the cook.

"And do you mean to say I stand it? I can't help it. I'm so horribly
small, but if I could, I'd kill you, Randolph, and as it is, I hate you
for doing it, hate you more than you have any idea."

"You know very well it's your own fault. You tempted me."

"How could I know about your silly lack of self-control?"

"You've always pretended to like me."

"Just what I did--pretended. But I'll never have to pretend again, thank
heaven. I don't really like you and I never did--not since we were
children."

"You'll be sorry for saying that, when you're calmer."

"I may be sorry for saying it, but I'll think it as long as I live."

"I pity the man who marries you, my girl. You've a bitter tongue."

"You'd marry me to-morrow, if you could."

"I would not."

"You would."

"Not if you were the last woman in the world."

[Illustration: _Scene from the Play_ PAUL DAINGERFIELD SUBMITS TO
INSPECTION. _Act I_]

"Good night."

"Good-by."

The culprit seized his hat and rushed away through the shadows before
Tucker had time to think put the dignified rebuke that he had intended.

There was a pause. He was conscious that an opportunity had slipped from
him. He knew now what he ought to have said. He should have asked the
young fellow--who was clearly a gentleman, far above Jane-Ellen in
social position--whether that was the way he