A slight colour stained Annan’s temples: “Why do you fancy that?” “Oh, I don’t know. One notices and hears. He’s always on her heels, always schmoozing around. Of course there’s gossip, there always is. But that’s the kind of man Smull is.... And there you are.” “Is he--that kind?” “Well, he tried it on Betsy. Imagine! _On Betsy_, my dear!” “What happened?” “Why, she told him to go to the devil. And he backing her! Can you imagine?” “I hope I can.” “They’re mostly that sort, ducky--Jews and Gentiles.... It’s a good thing I have Mom. All I have to do is whistle her. Run? It would surprise you.” * * * * * Luncheon was announced. He nodded, absently.... He was rather silent during luncheon. But Rosalind departed rather pleased with herself. That night, writing to Eris, he said: “If ever anything disagreeable happens to annoy you, I want you to come to me with it immediately.” Commenting on this, from the Berkshires: “Everything is gay and nothing is disagreeable. Mr. Smull came up and we had a picnic near Williamstown--the jolliest party!--except that Mr. Shunk had been drinking and Mr. Creevy’s jokes were rather vulgar. But a girl becomes impervious to such details. Only--I miss Frank Donnell and the nice, clean people in Betsy’s company....” That was all. And Annan, relieved, yet always vaguely uneasy, went on with his brand new story--scratched away at it, biding the return of Eris. * * * * * She came when the month was nearly gone, warning him by wire of her train, evidently not expecting him to meet it, for she asked him to come to Jane Street for dinner at seven. He never had gone to the train to meet Eris,--had never even thought of doing it. He thought of it now and wondered why he never before had done so. By telephone he ordered flowers to be sent to Jane Street; and, a few minutes before six, he walked into the Grand Central Station and was directed to the exit where the incoming train was already signalled. Outside the ropes, where people had gathered to welcome arriving friends, Annan encountered Albert Smull. As usual they shook hands. Smull wore his habitual and sanguine smile. His features had grown into it. “Saw your good aunt at Newport, Friday,” he said, “but I seldom see you anywhere these days, Annan.” “I don’t go about. How is it at Newport?” “Fine weather----” Through the open gates the train glided into view. “Thought I’d come down and see how our picture people are looking after their tour on location,” said Smull. “You know some of them, Annan--you’ve met our clever little Eris?” Annan turned and deliberately looked him over from his ruddy jowls to the polished tan shoes. “Yes,” he said slowly, “I’ve known Miss Odell for some time. I’m here to meet her.” Smull’s sanguine face slowly took on a heavier red but the set smile remained.