"Yes," he felt obliged to say, and followed it quickly, without apology for the indiscretion of the question: "Are they going to marry?" "That remains to be seen," she said in a way which made one desire to set the dog on her. "I cherish the hope. May I offer you another cigarette?" He sometimes remained scandalously late in the evening after dining, in spite of--oh, by so much!--knowing better. He would wait, with an artist's beautiful air of time-forgetfulness, for Dr. Tom to get up to go. He would instantly, as if remembering himself, get up to go, too, and walk with the doctor as far as his hotel, they talking together like men with respect for each other's brains, and appreciation of each other's character and company, no subject of contention in the world. Gerald pushed courtesy so far as to go with the doctor, by themselves, on certain visits to hospitals, to certain games of pallone, certain monasteries which ladies are not permitted to enter, Aurora rejoicing in the opportunities to "get good and acquainted" which she saw these two dear friends of hers take. * * * * * After the drive back from the wedding, Gerald resisted Aurora's suggestion that he enter the house with them and remain to dine. This he did with well-masked resentfulness. As it was not Dr. Bewick's last evening, but the evening before his last, Gerald did not see that delicacy strictly demanded his sacrifice. But Estelle had without so many compliments informed him that he was not to accept. She had particular reasons, she darkly enlightened him, for the request. So, with a paltry excuse, he jumped out of the carriage before it reached the gate, and stood looking after it, holding his hat--the glossy _tuba_ which Giovanna had with her elbow stroked and stroked the right way of the silk, when she laid out her signorino's outfit for the wedding. Earlier than usual after dinner Estelle retired, "to write up her diary," she said. Tom was left to have with Aurora that conversation which Estelle had besought him to have, and of which by a significant motion of the face she had reminded him before leaving the room. He came to the point very soon, the sooner to get it over. "Nell," he said, and, leaning back, with one arm flung along the top of the sofa, the other offering to his lips a thick cigar, waited long enough for her to wonder what was coming, "you spend too much money." Without shadow of attempt at evasion, she said: "Tom, I do." "You've got to retrench, girl. You've got to be more careful." "Yes, I suppose I've got to." "Let's be practical. How are you going to do it?" "I don't know, Tom. It's so easy to spend and so hard to hold on to your money! If any one had told me a year ago I could get rid of as much money in one year as I have done, I shouldn't have known how I could do it without opening the window and throwing it out." "Well, I'm glad you don't deny a bent toward extravagance."