Mrs. Jack had taken the seat next to him, and was asking him about the progress of the play. It was going on so indifferently that he was of half a mind to destroy it, which he did later. His glance always came back to Patty. She was bent over her basket-work. She was calling him Mr. Warrington again. Had he offended her in any manner? The light from the lamp sparkled in her hair. She was as fresh and beautiful as a July rose. But Mrs. Jack was an artist. She knew how to draw him out; and shortly he was talking animatedly. It was now that Patty's eyes began to rove. John, his fingers meeting in an arch, one leg thrown restlessly across the other, thoughtfully eyed his wife and his friend. ... It was a lie; there was nothing in all the world so honest as Warrington's hand, so truthful as his wife's eyes. Cursed be the doubt that had wedged between these two he loved! Time passes quickly or slowly, according to the state of mind. To John the time was long; to Patty and Warrington it was too short; to Mrs. Jack it was neither long nor short, but suspended. "Time for us to go, John. You are not particular about a chair, are you?" Warrington asked. "Not I. I prefer to stand up in the rear of the hall. If I am bored I can easily escape." "Oh, the night will not be without some amusement." "Take good care of John," whispered Mrs. Jack in Warrington's ear; as the two men were about to depart. "Trust me!" Warrington smiled. Patty and John observed this brief intercourse. The eyes of love are sharp. Patty was not jealous, neither was John; but something had entered into their lives that gave to all trivial things a ponderous outline. "Don't let any reporters talk to John, Mr. Warrington," requested the mother. "I'll surround him." "Shall we walk?" asked John. "We can see better on foot." "We'll walk, then." So the two men went down town on foot, and Jove galloped back and forth joyously. At any and all times he was happy with his master. The one bane of his existence was gone, the cat. He was monarch of the house; he could sleep on sofa-pillows and roll on the rugs, and nobody stole his bones. "Good dog," observed John. "Money couldn't buy him. I saw that fellow Bolles to-day," tentatively. "Bolles?" John did not recollect the name. "The fellow you nearly throttled the other night," explained Warrington. "He looked pretty well battered up. I never saw you lose your temper so quickly before." "He struck me without provocation, at the wrong moment. Who is going to speak to-night?" "Donnelly and Rudolph." "What do you think? Donnelly called me up by 'phone this afternoon. Wants to know if I really intend to tear down the shops. I told him I had nothing to say on the subject." "Tear them down. I should. You're a rich man." "Money isn't the question. The thing is, what shall I do? I'm not fitted for anything else."