"He's too young to understand, or it wouldn't be right to teach him such a thing as that," said Pollyooly in a tone of disapproval. "Not right?" cried Hilary Vance stormily. "But you've seen for yourself! You've seen how that girl led me on to squander the treasure of a splendid passion on her unresponsive spirit while, all the time, she was abasing herself before a miserable, preposterous scoundrel like that ruffian Butterwick." "He was rather small," said Pollyooly thoughtfully. "But I daresay he'd make her a good husband. He looked quite respectable." "A good husband!" cried Hilary Vance with a dreadful sneer. "But I expect she'll lead him a life. She looked like it," said Pollyooly, thoughtfully pursuing the subject. "Serve him right!" cried Hilary Vance with terrible scorn. "He has learnt her treachery to me; and if he marries her after that, he deserves all he gets. If she betrays my trust, she'll betray his." Pollyooly was silent, considering the matter. Then, summing it up, she said with conviction: "I don't think she's the kind of girl to trust at all." "I must have been blind--blind," said Hilary Vance. Then came the sound of a taxicab drawing up before the house, and then a knocking at the front door. Pollyooly opened it, and found Mr. James on the threshold. He looked uncommonly anxious and said quickly: "I missed him. Has he come back?" "Yes; he's having his tea." "And this fellow Butterwick?" said Mr. James. "Oh, he came; and then, when he found how big Mr. Vance is, he went away. But he hasn't done with Mr. Vance--not by a long chalk. He told me to tell him so," said Pollyooly. "Well, I'm glad they didn't scrap," said Mr. James in a tone of relief. "If they didn't at once, they're not very likely to later." "Oh, no: they won't now," said Pollyooly confidently. "You see as soon as he heard that Mr. Butterwick was her--her fiongsay"--she hesitated over the word because Hilary Vance had shaken her original conception of its pronunciation--"he gave her up for good." "That is a blessing," said the novelist in a tone of yet greater relief. He had been looking forward to a disagreeable and very likely hopeless struggle with his friend's infatuation. He walked down the passage and into the studio briskly. But not quickly enough to prevent an expression of funereal gloom flooding Hilary Vance's face. "How are you?" said Mr. James cheerfully. "In the depths--in the depths--my last illusion shattered," said the artist in the gloomiest kind of despairing croak. "Oh, you never know," said Mr. James. "I shall never trust a woman again--never," said the artist in an inexorable tone. "But I thought you'd given up trusting them months ago," said Mr. James in considerable surprise. "I was deceived--this one seemed so different. She was a serpent--a veritable serpent," said Hilary Vance in his deepest tone. "Yes. They are apt to be like that," said Mr. James with some carelessness. "May I have some tea?"