``But not the only one,'' she said, for the sake of saying
something.

``Perhaps not,'' answered Clay, ``but the only one that counts.
I always knew I was going to meet you some day. And now I have
met you.''

``Well, and now that you have met me,'' said Miss Langham,
looking at him in some amusement, ``are you sorry?''

``No--'' said Clay, but so slowly and with such consideration
that Miss Langham laughed and held her head a little higher.
``Not sorry to meet you, but to meet you in such surroundings.''

``What fault do you find with my surroundings?''

``Well, these people,'' answered Clay, ``they are so foolish, so
futile. You shouldn't be here. There must be something else
better than this. You can't make me believe that you choose it.
In Europe you could have a salon, or you could influence
statesmen. There surely must be something here for you to turn
to as well. Something better than golf-sticks and salted
almonds.''

``What do you know of me?'' said Miss Langham, steadily. ``Only
what you have read of me in impertinent paragraphs. How do you
know I am fitted for anything else but just this? You never
spoke with me before to-night.''

``That has nothing to do with it,'' said Clay, quickly. ``Time