"I do not see." The brown eyes had never looked at him so coldly before,
and their expression cut him.

"I'm glad you don't," he cried, and realized that the words had taken
him a step deeper into trouble. "It's just this way, Miss Margery--Billy
isn't hurt or ill, but he isn't--isn't feeling quite himself, and--and
I've got to--I've got to be with him." His voice sounded as if he were
going to cry, but it moved the girl to no pity.

"Oh!" she said, and her bewildered tone was a whole world removed from
the bright comradeship with which she had met him. "I see--you and Billy
have something else planned." Her face flushed suddenly. "I'm sorry I
misunderstood about--about the theater. I wouldn't for worlds have--have
seemed to force you to--" She stopped, embarrassed, hurt, but yet with
her graceful dignity untouched.

"Oh," the wretched Rex exclaimed impetuously, "if I could only take you
to the theater, I'd rather than--" but the girl stopped him.

"Never mind about that, please," she said, with gentle decision. "I
must go home--when is the next boat? One is going now--good-night, Mr.
Fairfax--no, don't come with me--I don't need you," and she was gone.

Two minutes later Strong's innocent slumbers were dispersed by a vicious
shake. "Wake up! wake up!" ordered Fairfax, restraining himself with
difficulty from mangling the cause of his sufferings. "I've had enough,
and we're going home, straight."

Rex was mistaken about that, but Billy was cordial in agreeing with him.
"Good idea, Recky! Howd'y' ever come to think of it? Le's go home