late. He's often tired when he's late. He flatters himself that it is
a little on his account that you have come to this Congress of
Psychologists."

"It is," Wilson assented, selecting his muffin carefully; "and I hope he
won't be tired tonight. But, on my own account, I'm glad to have a few
moments alone with you, before Bartley comes. I was somehow afraid that
my knowing him so well would not put me in the way of getting to know
you."

"That's very nice of you." She nodded at him above her cup and smiled,
but there was a little formal tightness in her tone which had not been
there when she greeted him in the hall.

Wilson leaned forward. "Have I said something awkward? I live very far
out of the world, you know. But I didn't mean that you would exactly
fade dim, even if Bartley were here."

Mrs. Alexander laughed relentingly. "Oh, I'm not so vain! How terribly
discerning you are."

She looked straight at Wilson, and he felt that this quick, frank glance
brought about an understanding between them.

He liked everything about her, he told himself, but he particularly
liked her eyes; when she looked at one directly for a moment they were
like a glimpse of fine windy sky that may bring all sorts of weather.

"Since you noticed something," Mrs. Alexander went on, "it must have
been a flash of the distrust I have come to feel whenever I meet any of