"No, you won't, Condy," said Travis placidly. "You'll pay no
attention to it, and I'll tell you why. Suppose you should make a
scene with Mr. Carter--I don't know how men settle these things.
Well, it would be told in all the clubs and in all the newspaper
offices that two men had quarreled over a girl; and my name is
mentioned, discussed, and handed around from one crowd of men to
another, from one club to another; and then, of course, the papers
take it up. By that time Mr. Carter will have told his side of
the story and invented another dirty little lie, and I'm the one
who suffers the most in the end. And remember, Condy, that I
haven't any mother in such an affair, not even an older sister.
No, we'll just let the matter drop. It would be more dignified,
anyhow. Only I have made up my mind what I am going to do."

"What's that?"

"I'm not coming out. If that's the sort of thing one has to put
up with in society"--Travis drew a little line on the sofa at her
side with her finger-tip--"I am going to--stop--right--there.
It's not"--Miss Bessemer stiffened again--"that I'm afraid of Jack
Carter and his dirty stories; I simply don't want to know the kind
of people who have made Jack Carter possible. The other girls
don't mind it, nor many men besides you, Condy; and I'm not going
to be associated with people who take it as a joke for a man to
come to a function drunk. And as for having a good time, I'll
find my amusements somewhere else. I'll ride a wheel, take long
walks, study something. But as for leading the life of a society
girl--no! And whether I have a good time or not, I'll keep my own
self-respect. At least I'll never have to dance with a drunken