The chin remained precipitously inclined. "I am poor, and the case involved some of my bread and butter. The work was done at ten, and even then I did not discover that I had in any way affronted you. I had it down in my note-book as Wednesday night." The lips above the chin curled slightly. "You see," I went on, striving to keep my voice even-toned, "my uncle is rich, but I ask no odds of him. I live entirely upon what I earn at law. It's the only way I can maintain my individuality, my self-respect and independence. My uncle has often expressed his desire to make me a handsome allowance, but what would be the use ... now?"--bitterly. The chin moved a little. It was too dark to see what this movement expressed. "It seems that I am only a very unfortunate fellow." "You had given me your promise." "I know it." "Not that I cared,"--with cat-like cruelty; "but I lost the last train out while waiting for you. Not even a note to warn me! Not the slightest chance to find an escort! When a man gives his promise to a lady it does not seem possible that he could forget it ... if he cared to keep it." "I tell you honestly that I mixed the dates." How weak my excuses seemed, now that they had passed my lips! "You are sure that you mixed nothing else?"--ironically. (She afterward apologized for this.) "It appears that it would have been better to come alone." "I regret I did not give you the address." "It is not too late." "I never retreat from any position I have taken." "Indeed?" Then both our chins assumed an acute angle and remained thus. When a woman is angry she is about as reasonable as a frightened horse; when a man is angry he longs to hit something or smoke a cigar. Imagine my predicament! When the cab reached Washington Place and came to a stand I spoke again. "Shall I take the hat in, or will you?" "We shall go together." Ah, if only I had had the courage to say: "I would it were for ever!" But I feared that it wouldn't take. I rang the bell, and presently a maid opened the door. "Is Monsieur de Beausire in?" I asked. "No, sir, he is not," the maid answered civilly. "Do you know where he may be found?" "If you have a bill you may leave it,"--frostily and with sudden suspicion. There was a smothered sound from behind me, and I flushed angrily. "I am not a bill-collector." "Oh; it's the second day of the month, you know. I thought perhaps you were." "He has in his possession a hat which does not belong to him." "Good gracious, he hasn't been _stealing_? I don't believe"--making as though to shut the door. This was too much, and I laughed. "No, my girl; he hasn't been stealing. But, being absent-minded, he has taken another man's hat, and I am bringing his home in hopes of getting the one he took by mistake." "Oh!" And the maid laughed shrilly. I held out the hat. "My land! that's his hat, sure enough. I was wondering what made him look so funny when he went out."