"Not a thing, Judson; not a thing."

The accent was so truthful that Judson gave his friend a long
comprehending look. He was sure that Gorry would never speak with such
sincerity if he was sincere.

"Well, I'm on the job, Gorry," he assured him, "and one of these days
you'll hear from me."

"I'm on the job too, Judson; and one of these days----"

But as Mademoiselle Coucoul emerged from the dressing-room and shed
radiance, Gorry was obliged to go forward.

Chapter XX

It was May.

In spite of her conviction that she knew what to do and how it to do
it, Barbara perceived that at the end of seven months they were much
where they had been in the previous October. If there was a change it
was that all three, Rashleigh, Letty, and herself, had grown strained
and intense.

Outwardly they strove to maintain a semblance of friendship. For that
Barbara had worked hard, and in a measure had succeeded. She had held
Rash; she had won Letty.

She had more than won Letty; she had trained her. All that in seven
months a woman of the world could do for an unformed and ignorant
child she had done. Her experience at Bleary Street had helped her in
this; and Letty had been quick. She had seized not only those small
points of speech and action foundational to rising in the world, but
the point of view of those who had risen. She knew how, Barbara was
sure, that there were certain things impossible to people such as
those among whom she had been thrown.

Since it was May it was the end of a season, and the minute Barbara
had long ago chosen for a masterstroke. Each of the others felt the
crisis as near as she did herself.

"It's got to end," Letty confessed to her, as amid the soft
loveliness of springtime, they were again driving in the Park.

Barbara chose her words. "I suppose he feels that too."

"Then why don't he let me end it?"

"I fancy that that's a difficult position for a man. If you ask his
permission beforehand he feels obliged to say----"

"And perhaps," Letty suggested, "he's too tender-hearted."

"That's part of it. He _is_ tender-hearted. Besides that, his position
is grotesque--a man with whom two women are in love. To one of them
he's been nominally married, while to the other he's bound by every
tie of honor. No wonder he doesn't see his way. If he moves toward the
one he hurts the other--a man to whom it's agony to hurt a fly."

"Does the other girl still feel the way she did?"

"She's