'Strange,' said Bruce, as he got in again. 'I had a curious
presentiment that something was going wrong about this dinner at the
Mitchells'.'

'What dinner at the Mitchells'? There doesn't seem to be any.'

'Do you know,' Bruce continued his train of thought, 'I felt certain
somehow that it would be a failure. Wasn't it odd? I often think I'm a
pessimist, and yet look how well I'm taking it. I'm more like a
fatalist--sometimes I hardly know what I am.'

'I could tell you what you are,' said Edith, 'but I won't, because now
you must take me to the Carlton. We shall get there before it's
closed.'



CHAPTER II

Opera Glasses

Whether to behave with some coolness to Mitchell, and be stand-offish,
as though it had been all his fault, or to be lavishly apologetic, was
the question. Bruce could not make up his mind which attitude to take.
In a way, it was all the Mitchells' fault. They oughtn't to have given
him a verbal invitation. It was rude, Bohemian, wanting in good form;
it showed an absolute and complete ignorance of the most ordinary and
elementary usages of society. It was wanting in common courtesy;
really, when one came to think about it, it was an insult. On the other