Hitherto, Mary had treated his love-making lightly, but to-night she turned upon him her troubled eyes. "Porter, you know I can't. But there are times when I wish--I could----" "Then why not?" She stopped him with a gesture. "It wouldn't be right. I'm simply feeling lonely and lost because Constance is so far away. But that isn't any reason for marrying you. You deserve a woman who cares, who really cares, heart and soul. And I can't, dear boy." "I was a fool to think you might," savagely, "a man with a red head is always a joke." "As if that had anything to do with it." "But it has, Mary. You know as well as I do that when I was a youngster I was always Reddy Bigelow to our crowd--Reddy Bigelow with a carrot-head and freckles. If I had been poor and common, life wouldn't have been worth living. But mother's family and Dad's money fixed that for me. And I had an allowance big enough to supply the neighborhood with sweets. You were a little thing, but you were sorry for me, and I didn't have to buy you. But I'd buy you now--with a house in town and a country house, and motor cars and lovely clothes--if I thought it would do any good, Mary." "You wouldn't want me that way, Porter." "I want you--any way." He stopped as the curtain went up, and darkness descended. But presently out of the darkness came his whisper, "I want you--any way." They had supper after the play, Leila and the General joining them at Porter's compelling invitation. Pending the serving of the supper, Barry detained Leila for a moment in a palm-screened corner of the sumptuous corridor. "That girl from New York, Leila--Miss Jeliffe? What is her first name?" "Delilah." "It isn't." Leila's light laughter mocked him. "Yes, it is, Barry. She calls herself Lilah and pronounces it as I do mine. But she signs her cheques De-lilah." Barry recovered. "Where did you meet her?" "At school. Her father's in Congress. They are coming to us to-morrow. Dad has asked me to invite them as house guests until they find an apartment." "Well, she's dazzling." Leila flamed. "I don't see how you can like--her kind----" "Little lady," he admonished, "you're jealous. I danced four dances with her, and only one with your new pink slippers." She stuck out a small foot. "They're lovely, Barry," she said, repentantly, "and I haven't thanked you." "Why should you? Just look pleasant, please. I've had enough scolding for one day." "Who scolded?" "Mary." Leila glanced into the dining-room, where, in her slim fairness, Mary was like a pale lily, among all the tulip women, and poppy women, and orchid women, and night-shade women of the social garden. "If Mary scolded you, you deserved it," she said, loyally. "You too? Leila, if you don't stick to me, I might as well give up." His face was moody, brooding. She forgot the Delilah-dancer of the afternoon, forgot everything except that this wonderful man-creature was in trouble.