turned on him the open cynicism of her smile.

"Now is it possible that Perry has that effect on you?" she asked with
curiosity. "For I find him decidedly depressing."

"Then if it isn't Perry I demand the name," persisted Adams gayly,
"though I'm perfectly ready to wager that it's Arnold Kemper."

"Kemper," repeated Laura curiously, as if the name arrested her almost
against her will. "Wasn't there a little novel once by an Arnold
Kemper--a slight but striking thing with very little grammar and a great
deal of audacity?"

"Oh, that was done in his early days," replied Adams, "as a kind of
outlet to the energy he now expends in racing motors. I asked Funsten,
who does our literary notices, if there was any chance for him again in
fiction, and he answered that the only favourable thing he could say of
him was to say nothing."

"But he's gone in for automobiles now," said Gerty, "they're so much
bigger, after all, he thinks, than books."

"I haven't seen him for fifteen years," remarked Adams, "but I recognise
his speech."

"One always recognises his speeches," admitted Gerty, "there's a stamp
on them, I suppose, for somehow he himself is great even if his career
isn't--and, after all," she concluded seriously, "it is--what shall I
call it--the personal quantity that he insists on."