To have the effulgent Joe sitting opposite, attracting all eyes to their table, made Wilfred exquisitely conscious of the discrepancies of his own dress. Joe’s brilliant personality beat him to the earth; he hated himself for being so easily overcome. He couldn’t meet those hard bright eyes. He was full of indignation that Joe had presumed to sit down without waiting to be asked; and at the same time he was amazed that Joe deigned to notice him at all. Surely he could not be so insignificant as he seemed to himself if. . . . But vanity was slain by the hateful suggestion that it gratified Joe to sit there displaying the contrast between them to the assembled company. How Wilfred writhed under that thought! Yet it would have been too ridiculous for him to get up and walk out of the place. He had not courage enough for that. He sat there, enduring it, until people forgetting them, looked elsewhere. Then curiosity began to burn in him, and he no longer wished to go. What a chance to learn the truth about Joe! If he could be induced to talk about himself; to reveal his commonness; it would destroy the absurd, splendid, evil creature of Wilfred’s imagination, and cure his envy. “Funny how we always run into each other,” said Joe; “big as the town is! What you doing now?” He was only giving Wilfred half his attention; the black eyes were roving around. “I work for the Exchange Trust,” said Wilfred. “Oh, Amasa Gore’s bank. Did he put you in there? I haven’t seen Gore for near four years. How is the old stiff? . . . And Dobereiner? And Harry Bannerman?” “I don’t know,” said Wilfred. “I never go there.” “Still living with the Aunts?” “No. I have my own place now.” “That’s what a fellow wants, eh? When he grows up,” said Joe with a good-humored, and infinitely suggestive grin. Wilfred stiffened his face; but in spite of himself, his breast warmed a little towards Joe. There was a sort of infernal bond between them. Wilfred was a profligate too—that is, he desired to be. The bottle and glasses were brought, each glass with a little silver fountain placed on top, through which the water dripped on the sugar, alternately side and side, with a fairy tinkle. Wilfred watched the operation fascinated. He tingled with pleasure at the thought of drinking the dangerous stuff. As the sugared water mingled with it, the green liquor mantled and pearled.