he said clearly, though without raising his voice. "Sherry's in an
hour. Right. Now, behave yourselves."

"Mind you show up on time!"

"Never fear," returned Maitland over his shoulder.

A witticism was flung back at him from the retreating car, but
spent itself unregarded. Maitland's attention was temporarily
distracted by the unusual--to say the least--sight of a young and
attractive woman coming out of a home for confirmed bachelors.

The apartment house happened to be his own property. A substantial
and old-fashioned edifice, situated in the middle of a quiet
block, it contained but five roomy and comfortable suites,
--in other words, one to a floor; and these were without
exception tenanted by unmarried men of Maitland's own circle and
acquaintance. The janitor, himself a widower and a convinced
misogynist, lived alone in the basement. Barring very special and
exceptional occasions (as when one of the bachelors felt called
upon to give a tea in partial recognition of social obligations),
the foot of woman never crossed its threshold.

In this circumstance, indeed, was comprised the singular charm the
house had for its occupants. The quality which insured them privacy
and a quiet independence rendered them oblivious to its many minor
drawbacks, its lack of many conveniences and luxuries which have
of late grown to be so commonly regarded as necessities. It boasted,
for instance, no garage; no refrigerating system maddened those
dependent upon it; a dissipated electric lighting system never went