Arthur nodded, stropping a razor the while. He appeared to be bearing
the revelations with complete fortitude. Yet, only a few weeks before,
a customer's comment on this same whiteness had stirred him to his
depths.

'And this morning--what do you think? Why, he meets me as bold as you
please, and gives me a cake of toilet soap. Like his impudence!'

She paused, hopefully.

'Always useful, soap,' said Arthur, politely sententious.

'Lovely it was,' went on Maud, dully conscious of failure, but
stippling in like an artist the little touches which give atmosphere
and verisimilitude to a story. 'All scented. Horace will tease me about
it, I can tell you.'

She paused. Surely he must--Why, a sea-anemone would be torn with
jealousy at such a tale.

Arthur did not even wince. He was charming about it. Thought it very
kind of the young fellow. Didn't blame him for being struck by the
whiteness of her hands. Touched on the history of soap, which he
happened to have been reading up in the encyclopedia at the free
library. And behaved altogether in such a thoroughly gentlemanly
fashion that Maud stayed awake half the night, crying.

* * * * *