* * * * *

We three left behind settled down for the evening. At least I did, and
the others made a show of doing so. But the Skeptic was both restless
and moody, the Philosopher unsociable. Finally the Skeptic flung an
invitation to the Philosopher to go off for a walk. The Philosopher
consented with a nod, and they strolled away, taking leave of me with
formal politeness. I understood them, and I did not mind. A wise woman
lets a man go--that he may return.

They came back just as twilight darkened into night, and sat down at my
feet on the step, shoulder to shoulder, like the good comrades that they
were. I wondered if they had been discussing the subject which the Lad
had introduced.

"How much," inquired the Philosopher quite suddenly, "do you suppose it
would cost to dress a girl like Miss Camellia?"

"I've really no idea," I answered, since the question seemed directed at
me. "It depends on a number of things. There are girls so clever with
their needles that they can produce very remarkable effects for a
comparatively small amount of money."

"Is she one of them?"

"I don't know."

"I fancy you do," was his comment. Presently he went on again. "You see,
I don't know much about all this," he declared. "So I've had rather an