year or so, I can contrive to be gay without it. But after that....

"I wish you had been there instead of Ryder. If you are really going to be
twenty-seven in November--as I figure it--you might yourself have served as
a connecting link between youth and age. No, no; I take it back; I didn't
mean it. I wouldn't have you seem older for anything, and you know it.

"There were three girls. They all live in the house itself, forming a
little court: Mrs. P. seems to need young life and young attentions. So not
one of them had to be taken home--there's usually _that_ to do, you
know. Not that it would have mattered much, as the distances would have
been short and the night was clear starlight. But they could all stay where
they were, and I walked home in quite different company."

Cope threw back his Oriental table-cover once more and drew out a few
additional sheets of paper.

"One of them is an artist. She paints portraits, and possibly other things.
Oh, I was going to say there is an art-gallery at the top of the house. Her
husband--I mean Mrs. Phillips'--was a painter and collector himself; and
after dinner we went up there, and a curious man came in, propelling a
wheeled chair--a sort of death's-head at the feast.... But don't let me get
too far away from the matter in hand. She is dark and a bit tonguey--the
artist-girl; and I believe she would be sarcastic and witty if she weren't
held down pretty well. I think she's a niece: the relationship leaves her
free, as I suppose she feels, to express herself. If you like the type you
may have it; but wit in a woman, or even humor, always makes me
uncomfortable. The feminine idea of either is a little different from ours.

"Another girl is a musician. She plays the violin--quite tolerably. Yes,