I'm no hypocrite. I'd been raised for one purpose, and that was to marry well. If I did it in my own way, and you think my way not exactly ethical, I can't help it. This thing of sitting back and letting somebody find you and propose to you is ridiculous. There is only one life, and we have to make the best we can of it. Ethical! Don't girls always have the worst of it anyhow? They can't go and ask the man. They have to lie in wait and plan and scheme, or get left and have their younger sisters come out and crowd them, and at twenty-five or so begin to regard any man at all as a prospect. Maybe my methods sound a bit crude, but compared with the average girl I know, I was delicate. I didn't play up my attractions, at least not more than was necessary. I was using my mind, not my body. III On Tuesday night I was going to a dance. Mother and father were dining out and were to meet me later, so I was free until ten o'clock. That night Henry brought Russell Hill. I kept them waiting a few minutes, and came down ready for the car. At the last minute I pulled my hair a bit loose over my face, and the effect was exactly right. Henry was horribly uncomfortable, and left in a few minutes. He was going with some people to the dance, and would see us later. About all he said was with his usual tact. "You two ought to get together," he said. "There's a lot too much being whispered these days, and not enough talking out loud." With that he went, and we two were left facing each other. "This is one of Henry's inspirations, Miss Katherine," Russell said. "I--I don't usually have to wait until the family is out before I make a call." "Families are queer," I said non-committally. There was a window open and I stood near it, under a pink lamp, and let my hair blow about. "Are we going to sit down, or am I to be banished as soon as I've explained that I am a safe companion for a débutante?" He was plainly laughing at me, although he was uncomfortable too. And I have some spirit left. "I am afraid you are giving me credit for too much interest," I said. "This is Henry's idea, you know. You needn't defend yourself to me. You look--entirely safe." He hated that. No man likes to look entirely safe. He put his hands in his pockets and half closed his eyes. "Humph!" he said. "Then I gather that this whole meeting is a mistake. I'm respectable enough to be uninteresting, and the ban your people have placed on me doesn't particularly concern you!" "That's not quite true," I said slowly. "I--if I ever got a chance to know you really well, I'm sure we'd be--but I'll never get a chance, you know." "Upon my word," he broke out, "I'd like to know just what your people have heard! But that doesn't matter. What really matters"--he had hardly taken his eyes off me--"what really matters is that I am going to see you again. Often!" "It's impossible." "Rot! We're always going to the same places. Am I absolutely warned off?" "You're not. But I am."