“Primal, perpetual, necessary!” I cried. “When that division gets blurred, society is doomed. Are you sure John can take care of himself every way?” “I have other things than Mr. Mayrant to think about.” She said this quite sharply. It surprised me. “To be sure,” I assented. “But didn’t you once tell me that you thought he was simple?” She opened her ledger. “It’s a great honor to have one’s words so well remembered.” I was still at a loss. “Anyhow, the wedding is postponed,” I continued; “and the cake. Of course one can’t help wondering how it’s all coming out.” She was now working at her ledger, bending her head over it. “Have you ever met Miss Rieppe?” She inquired this with a sort of wonderful softness--which I was to hear again upon a still more memorable occasion. “Never,” I answered, “but there’s nobody at present living whom I long to see so much.” She wrote on for a little while before saying, with her pencil steadily busy, “Why?” “Why? Don’t you? After all this fuss?” “Oh, certainly,” she drawled. “She is so much admired--by Northerners.” “I do hope John is able to take care of himself,” I purposely repeated. “Take care of yourself!” she laughed angrily over her ledger. “Me? Why? I understand you less and less!” “Very likely.” “Why, I want to help him!” I protested. “I don’t want him to marry her. Oh, by the way do you happen to know what it is that she is coming here to see for herself?” In a moment her ledger was left, and she was looking at me straight. Coming? When? “Soon. In an automobile. To see something for herself.” She pondered for quite a long moment; then her eyes returned, searchingly, to me. “You didn’t make that up?” I laughed, and explained. “Some of them, at any rate,” I finished, “know what she’s coming for. They were rather queer about it, I thought.” She pondered again. I noticed that she had deeply flushed, and that the flush was leaving her. Then she fixed her eyes on me once more. “They wouldn’t tell you?” “I think that they came inadvertently near it, once or twice, and remembered just in time that I didn’t know about it.” “But since you do know pretty much about it!” she laughed. I shook my head. “There’s something else, something that’s turned up; the sort of thing that upsets calculations. And I merely hoped that you’d know.” On those last words of mine she gave me quite an extraordinary look, and then, as if satisfied with what she saw in my face.-- “They don’t talk to me.” It was an assurance, it was true, it had the ring of truth, that evident genuineness which a piece of real confidence always possesses; she meant me to know that we were in the same boat of ignorance to-day. And yet, as I rose from my lunch and came forward to settle for it, I was aware of some sense of defeat, of having been held off just as the ladies on High Walk had held me off. “Well,” I sighed, “I pin my faith to the aunt who says he’ll never marry her.”