nd it makes me
feel less friendly to him. If my deductions are correct, there can be no
excuse for a behavior which bears the earmarks of cynicism and cold
calculation carried too far. May I be forgiven, if I err. Indeed, I
earnestly hope that I am mistaken and that he is a man who conceals
sentiments really creditable to him under an exterior less attractive.

Frieda and Frances were in my room, that afternoon, when the card
arrived. I passed it to Frieda, who handed it over to her friend. The
reception referred to led the former to some discussion of prevailing
fashions. The painter of Orion dresses in a manner all her own, while
the slender purse of Frances compels a garb of nearly monastic
simplicity. But they appear to have a great knowledge of stylish
clothing and an interest in it, which must be rather an instinct than
the result of deep study.

I have not mentioned Gordon's engagement to them, probably for the
reason that the subject is somewhat distasteful to me. Since my friend
has not spoken of it to his model, there is no particular reason why I
should do so. Let him attend to his own announcing.

In the evening, I took both of them to the movies. This was the result
of a conspiracy between Frieda and myself, as we had agreed that it
would be best to try and amuse Frances, if possible, and make her forget
the morrow's ordeal. Yet, on our way home, the poor child could not help
mentioning it.

"He says that my throat is beautifully trained and he can touch all
sorts of things in it, now, with his instruments. I no longer mind it in
the least. He tells me that he doesn't think it will hurt me, but, of
course, I care nothing about a little pain. He's an awfully good fellow.
What I'm afraid of is that it will do no good and that I shall never be
able to use my voice again. I'm awfully hoarse now."

It was quite true that her voice was more husky, and the element of
sadness in it made it sound worse. She spoke very low as she bade us
good night, for I was going to take Frieda home.

In the morning I rose at an unearthly hour, spurred by the knowledge
that I was going to the doctor's with Frances at eleven o'clock. I was
bathed, shaved and clad in my Sunday suit by nine, after which I went
out and brought back an armful of Sunday papers, which I tossed on my
table and never looked at.

Soon afterwards, Eulalie came in, rather bashfully, to ask me if I could
lend Madame Dupont the _Courier_. Also, she confi