Wilfred roused himself automatically. “No hurry,” he said. “We’re not going on the 5:23. . . . It would be too ridiculous to let this accident spoil our day; to lie down under it! Just for that, we’re going to make a night of it now. We’re going to walk down the avenue, looking in all the shop windows. We’re going to Mouquin’s to dinner, and afterwards to a play. We can send a telegram to nurse. . . .” Frances Mary shook her head. “It would be silly to spend the money. I shouldn’t enjoy it now. Come on. . . .” “You’ve damned well _got_ to enjoy it!” said Wilfred. “We’re not going home with our tails between our legs. . . .” “The thought of those people. . . .” “Forget them . . . ! If I can only find a play with some good laughs in it. . . .” She picked up her gloves. “You stay. I’d rather go home, really.” “Well, go ahead!” said Wilfred recklessly. “And by God! I’ll get drunk! Sometimes it’s the only rejoinder . . . !” Frances Mary laid down her gloves. * * * * * They were walking down the avenue. Apropos of nothing, Frances Mary said: “Anyway, the man was impossible! Such insolence!” A great rush of gratitude filled Wilfred’s breast. She was coming ’round! Cheers! He cunningly hid his joy. He did not honestly think that Joe had been insolent, but one could concede that! “I always told you what he was.” “The cheek of his pretending that he had never heard of you, when you’re a regular contributor to one of his rotten magazines!” “It’s quite on the cards that he may never read his magazines,” said Wilfred. “Indeed, I hope it may be true that I am unknown to him. That’s why I kicked you under the table.” “I don’t understand.” “Suppose this meeting irritated him,” said Wilfred. “Mind you, I don’t think he noticed us one way or t’other; but if it was called to his attention that he had the power to injure me, he might write to his editor telling him to step on my stuff hereafter. That’s the worst of power: a man can’t always resist the temptation of making it felt, even if there’s nothing in particular to be gained.” “Oh, Wilfred . . . !” “He and his like are our masters,” said Wilfred serenely, “and it behooves us to step warily in their presence.” “How can you be so calm about it?” “Well,” said Wilfred, grinning sideways at her, “I have, to use that word which you despise, compensations!” Fanny suddenly slipped her arm through his. “Oh, Wilfred . . .” she faltered. “You’re such a dear . . . ! I’m sorry . . . ! I believe I’m going to cry. . . . Now, I’m sure I am! I can’t keep it back . . . !” “That’s all right! We’ll turn down this side street. Let her fly, old girl! . . .” THE END TRANSCRIBER NOTES Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. Where multiple spellings occur, majority use has been employed. Punctuation has been maintained except where obvious printer errors occur.