ishness, and can't understand that a fellow should walk along a mile
of commonplace hedge and stop because he has found a wild rose. The
latter, with due respect to him, is as big a truth as the privet, and a
pleasanter one."

Presently, Frieda, after consuming a third cup of tea and finishing the
crackers, said that she must be going home. I insisted on accompanying
her down the stairs and naturally followed her to her domicile, where
she informed me that she was going to wash her hair and forbade my
entering.

On the other side of the street, on my return, I saw Frances going into
Dr. Porter's office. He has prevailed upon her to let him do something
to her throat, and she goes in once or twice a week. He has begged her
to come as a special and particular favor to him. I'm sure I don't know
what he expects to accomplish, for he is somewhat reticent in the
matter. Perhaps he may have thought it well to arouse a little hope in
her. I am afraid that in her life she sees a good deal of the dull
grays Frieda was speaking of.

* * * * *

And now a few more weeks have gone by and the middle of winter has come.
On Sunday afternoons we always have tea in my room, except when we go
through the same function at Frieda's. To my surprise, Gordon's visits
have been repeated a number of times. Frieda and he abuse one another
most unmercifully, like the very best of friends, and he persistently
keeps on observing Frances. It looks as if she exerted some strange
fascination upon him, of which she is perfectly ignorant. He never goes
beyond the bounds of the most simple friendliness, but, sometimes, she
sharply resents some cynical remark of his, without seeming to disturb
him in the least.

Meanwhile, my friend Willoughby Jones has told me that Gordon is doing
Mrs. Van Rossum's portrait, while the younger lady roams about the
studio and eats chocolates, talking about carburetors and tarpon-tackle.
The family will leave soon in search of the balmy zephyrs of Florida. My
friend's chatter also included the information that Gordon might soon
take a run down there.

"They say he's becoming a captive of her bow and spear," he told me. "It
looks as if he were trying to join the ranks of the Four Hundred. It has
been said that the Van Rossums, or at least Miss Sophia, show some
willingness to adopt him. Wouldn't it be funny?"

Funny! It would be tragic! I can't for an instant reconcile myself to
such an