“Yes,” said Cecily vaguely. She was watching some one in the passing crowd and suddenly with a smile she blew her horn and pulled up beside the pavement. “There’s my husband,” she added. Dick came smilingly to the side of the car. “It’s exciting meeting your wife on the street,” he said gayly. “I’ve been wondering how soon I could cut and run for home, despite my self-respect as a business man.” “Oh, come now,” begged Cecily. She, too, found it exciting to meet her husband on the street. A delicious sense of intimacy underran all this casualness. It made her flush and the flush was becoming. Fliss looked at her, leaning forward towards her husband, with that abandon of interest and affection. It was a new way with men for Fliss. Fliss made them fight for favors and interest--mock battles, no doubt, but well staged. Dick yielded. “I will go home now. The house has probably gone to rack and ruin in my absence,” he said, getting in beside Fliss, who had moved to the back seat. They kept up a gay banter, throwing an occasional remark at Cecily, who was driving. The slight embarrassment Fliss sometimes showed when talking to Cecily had vanished now. Fliss was sure of her ground instinctively with men. Hers were methods as old as woman and as deft--flattering, piquing, stimulating. They dropped her at the door of the apartment house, still smiles and coquetry. “Funny little thing, isn’t she?” said Dick, climbing over to Cecily’s side. “Where did you pick her up, sweetheart? She doesn’t seem like your kind.” “I’m always half sorry for her and quite interested.” “Oh, she’s just a little climbing gutter-pup. Smart--and pretty. She’ll land a man with a million some day if she plays it right.” “She’s not as bad as that, Dick, and she can’t help it if she’s poor and wants things.” “All right, Mrs. Charity. Be as good to her as you like. Only don’t blame me if she doesn’t measure up. She’s been going around to dances for years with men twice her age. She’s decent enough, but sophisticated--sophisticated as you never will be.” “You sound very condemning.” “No, I didn’t mean to. But I’ve lost my taste for chickens. I prefer--swans.” And he slipped an arm around her, regardless of her driving. The house was very lovely in the late afternoon light. The door was open, welcoming them into the softly darkened hall. CHAPTER VII