_Mrs. Dunham_, in a desperate effort to ignore the Public Library: "I'm afraid all this doesn't interest you very much, Mr. Brockway. It's so fatally easy----" _Fleetwell_, whose opinion touching a portion of the design has been contravened by Mr. Vennor: "I say, Cousin Jeannette, isn't the Sargent decoration for the staircase hall--" _et sequentia_, until Brockway sinks back into oblivion to come to the surface ten minutes later at a summons from the other side. _Gertrude_, purposely losing the thread of Priscilla Beaswicke's remarks on the claims of theosophy to an unprejudiced hearing: "What makes you so quiet, Mr. Brockway? Tell me about your other adventures with the school-teachers--after you left Salt Lake City, you know." _Brockway_, catching at the friendly straw with hope once more reviving: "Then you haven't forgotten--excuse me; Miss Beaswicke is speaking to you." And the door shuts in his face and leaves him again in outer darkness. In the nature of things mundane, even the most leisurely dinner cannot last forever. Brockway's ordeal came to an end with the black coffee, and when he was free he would have vanished quickly if Gertrude had not detained him. "You are not going to leave us at once, are you?" she protested. "I--I think I'd better go back to my 'ancients and invalids,' if you'll excuse me." Gertrude was conscience-stricken, and her hospitable angel upbraided her for having given her guest an unthankful meal. Wherefore she sought to make amends. "Don't go just yet unless you are obliged to," she pleaded. "Sit down and tell me about the schoolma'ams. How far did you go with them?" "I had to make the whole blessed circuit," he said, tarrying willingly enough. "Do you often have such deliciously irresponsible people to convoy?" "Not often; but the regular people usually make up for it in--well, in cantankerousness; that's about the only word that will fit it." Brockway was thinking of the exacting majority in the Tadmor. "And yet it doesn't make you misanthropic? I should think it would. What place is this we are coming to?" "Carvalho--the supper station." Gertrude saw her father coming toward them; she guessed his purpose and resented it. If she chose to make kindly amends to the passenger agent for his sorry dinner, she would not be prevented. "We stop here a little while, don't we?" she asked of Brockway. "Yes; twenty minutes or more. Would you like to go out for a breath of fresh air?" She had risen and caught up her wrap and hat. "I should; it is just what I was going to propose. Cousin Jeannette, I'm going to walk on the platform with Mr. Brockway. Come," she said; and they escaped before Mr. Vennor could overtake them.