Alan made no reply. Rayburn Miller lighted a cigar and began to smoke steadily. There was a sound of boisterous laughter in a room across the corridor. It had been set aside as the dressing-room for the male revellers, and some of them were there, ordering drinks up from the bar. Now and then from below came muffled strains of music and the monotonous shuffling of feet. “It's none of my business,” Miller burst out, suddenly; “but I'm friend enough of yours to feel this thing like the devil. However, I don't know what to say. I only wish I knew how far you've gone into it.” Alan smiled mechanically. “If you can' t look at me and see how far I've gone you are blind,” he said. “I don't mean that,” replied Miller. “I was wondering how far you had committed yourself--oh, damn it!--made love, and all that sort of thing.” “I've never spoken to her on the subject,” Alan informed him, gloomily. “Good, good! Splendid!” Alan stared in surprise. “I don't understand,” he said. “She knows--that is, I think she knows how I feel, and I have hoped that--” “Never mind about that,” interrupted Miller, laconically. “There is a chance for both of you if you 'll turn square around like sensible human beings and look the facts in the face.” “You mean--” “That it will be stupid, childish idiocy for either or both of you to let this thing spoil your lives.” “I don't understand you.” “Well, you will before I'm through with you, and I 'll do you up brown. There are simply two courses open to you, my boy. One is to treat Colonel Barclay's wishes with dignified respect, and bow and retire just as any European gentleman would do when told that his pile was too small to be considered.” “And the other?” asked Alan, sharply. “The other is to follow in the footsteps of nearly every sentimental fool that ever was born, and go around looking like a last year's bird's-nest, looking good for nothing, and being good for nothing; or, worse yet, persuading the girl to elope, and thus angering her father so that he will cut her out of what's coming to her and what is her right, my boy. She may be willing to live on a bread-and-water diet for a while, but she 'll lose flesh and temper in the long run. If you don't make as much money for her as you cause her to lose she 'll tell you of it some day, or at least let you see it, an' that's as long as it's wide. You are now giving yourself a treatment in self-hypnotism, telling yourself that life has not and cannot produce a thing for you beyond that particular pink frock and yellow head. I know how you feel. I've been there six different times, beginning with a terrible long first attack and dwindling down, as I became inoculated with experience, till now the complaint amounts to hardly more than a momentary throe when I see a fresh one in a train for an hour's ride. I can do you a lot of good if you 'll listen to me. I 'll give you the benefit of my experience.”