"And other men are inclined to, and have no opportunity; is that it, my son? The fascination of monopoly? The chicken with the worm?" "I _like_ her," repeated Clive, Jr., a trifle annoyed. "So you have remarked before. Who is she?" "Do you remember that charming little child in the red hood and cloak down at Greensleeve's tavern when we were duck-shooting?" "Is _that_ the girl?" "Yes." "What is she?" "Stenographer." Bailey, Sr., shrugged his shoulders, patiently. "What's the _use_, Clive?" "Use? Well there's no particular use. I'm not in love with her. Did you think I was?" "I don't think any more. Your mother does that for me.... Don't make anybody unhappy, my son." * * * * * His mother, also, had made very frank representations to him on several occasions, the burden of them being that common people beget common ideas, common associations corrupt good manners, and that "nice" girls would continue to view with disdain and might ultimately ostracise any misguided young man of their own caste who played about with a woman for whose existence nobody who was anybody could account. "The daughter of a Long Island road-house keeper! Why, Clive! where is your sense of fitness! Men don't do that sort of thing any more!" "What sort of thing, mother?" "What you are doing." "What am I doing?" "Parading a very conspicuous young woman about town." "If you saw her in somebody's drawing-room you'd merely think her beautiful and well-bred." "Clive! Will you please awake from that silly dream?" "That's the truth, mother. And if she spoke it would merely confirm the impression. You won't believe it but it's true." "That's absurd, Clive! She may not be uneducated but she certainly cannot be either cultivated or well-bred." "She is cultivating herself." "Then for goodness' sake let her do it! It's praiseworthy and commendable for a working girl to try to better herself. But it doesn't concern you." "Why not? If a business girl does better herself and fit herself for a better social environment, it seems to me her labour is in vain if people within the desired environment snub her." "What kind of argument is that? Socialistic? I merely know it is unbaked. What theory is it, dear?" [Illustration: "Beside her, eager, happy, flattered, walked C. Bailey, Jr., very conscious that he was being envied."] "I don't know what it is. It seems reasonable to me, mother." "Clive, are you trying to make yourself sentimentalise over that Greensleeve woman?" "I told you that I am not in love with her; nor is she with me. It's an agreeable and happy comradeship; that's all." "People think it something more," retorted his mother, curtly. "That's their fault, not Athalie's and not mine." "Then, why do you go about with her? _Why?_ You know girls enough, don't you?" "Plenty. They resemble one another to the verge of monotony."