“To control my own temper it is necessary for me to keep reminding myself that you love me.... Perhaps you wouldn’t speak that way if you didn’t.... Perhaps men are that way.... I’m sorry I’m not dining with you.... I’m sorry because I’m in love with you.... And always will be.... Good-night, dear.” “Eris!” “Yes, dear.” “I’m ashamed--penitent--miserable. I’m rottenly jealous----” “Darling! You have no cause----” “No. But--I can’t bear to think of you alone with other men. I know it’s all right. I know also that jealousy is a low-down, common, disgusting, contemptible emotion----” “Barry! I _want_ you to be properly jealous of my safety and well-being. I adore it in you, you funny, delightful boy! I’m not experienced with men, but I’m beginning to understand you. Darling! You may even swear at me if you want to--if you do it’s because you’re in love with me.” The girl, laughing, heard the boy sigh: “It’s doing queer things to me,” he said, “--this love business. All I can think of is you; and when you’re away I just dope myself with work.... I don’t mean to be selfish----” “I _want_ you to be. Be a perfect pig if you like, darling. Bully me, threaten, monopolise me--oh, my dear, my dear, give me my allotted time to work, learn, and make good; and then I promise--I _promise_ you all that is within me to give--mind and soul, Barry--utter devotion, gratitude unmeasured, all, all of me--darling!----” She was late,--nearly three-quarters of an hour late, when she arrived at Albert Smull’s apartment on Park Avenue. A man servant directed her to a rear room fitted amazingly like the boudoirs she had read about. It was a charming place hung with a sort of silvery rose-silk; and on an ivory-tinted dresser everything that femininity could require, brand new and sealed. But Eris spent only a moment at the mirror, and, the next, she was shaking hands with Albert Smull in a delightful lounging room, slightly aromatic with a melange of flowers and tobacco. “I’m sorry to be late,” she said with smiling concern, “but I’m so relieved to find that Mr. Donnell hasn’t yet arrived.” “We won’t wait dinner for him anyway,” said Smull with his near and eager smile. “He’ll have to take his chances, Eris.... I say, you’re stunning in that gown!” “Oh, do you like it?” she said politely. He repeated emphatically his admiration; seemed inclined to touch the black fabric; expatiate on fashion, suitability, harmony of snowy skin, red hair, and the smartness of dead black--“Only the young dare wear it, and usually they’re too stupid to until they’re too old to.” A grave-faced servant brought three cocktails. “Come, now, Eris, it’s time you learned,” he insisted. “Be a good fellow and you won’t be sorry. I’ve got to drink Frank’s cocktail anyway. You’ll have it on your conscience if I have to drink yours too!” To be rid of his insistence she touched her lips to her glass, set it back on the tray, and wiped her lips when he wasn’t looking.