other congenial. They believe in sweet ignorance and blind
acceptance for their sex. But what do you want me to do, Selwyn?
What is it I can do?"

"I don't know." Hand on the back of the sofa, he looked down at me.
"When things go wrong I always come to you. When they go right you
are not nice to me. To-day I had a letter from Harrie. He's coming
back next week. His fiancee and her mother are coming with him. The
engagement is not to be announced just yet, however, and he asks me
to keep it on the quiet."

"And you've told me."

"Told you!" Selwyn's voice was querulous. "Don't I tell you
everything? Mrs. Swink has friends here, strivers like herself--the
only kind of people you won't have anything to do with. But I'm
going to ask you to call. Perhaps you'll be able--"

"She won't want to know me. I'll be no use to her. I can't help her
in any way, and people like that are too keen to waste time on people
like me. I don't give parties."

"But Kitty does. I don't know how you'll go about it, but you'll
find a way to--to make the girl understand she mustn't marry Harrie,
or certainly not for some time. I feel sorry for the child, but--"

"And the other girl--the little cashier-girl? What about her?"

For a moment Selwyn did not seem to understand. "Oh, that girl! I
don't think there'll be any trouble from her. She doesn't seem that