The man who has learned the difference between gayety and happiness has solved one of the greatest secrets of life; such men are rare; at least they were not numbered among Mrs. Harlan's friends. The lady herself was a handsome woman of rather generous proportions, her age, like her husband's exact fate, being one of the very few subjects on which she preserved a discreet silence. She was by no means a bad woman, according to her lights, but her lights burned dim at times, and she had that smoldering hatred of the orthodox members of respectability that is never absent from the heart of a clever woman who knows that she has forever put herself beyond its pale. Dick Fenway, very soon after his arrival in New York, became one of the inner circle of Mrs. Harlan's intimates, both by virtue of his natural gayety and the fact that he was what is known as a good spender, meaning a person who, no matter how great his expenditure may be, is never by any possible chance known to do the slightest good with his money. At first gossip was inclined to connect his name with that of the fair widow, but if, for a time, there had been anything but friendship between them, it soon burned itself out. Whatever her age, she was at least old enough to have been his mother, and, reckless as he was, he had far too much natural shrewdness to allow himself to become so completely entangled that escape would be impossible. He made no secret of the fact that he had been unhappily married; in fact he took pains that the ladies of this particular circle should know of it, an unhappy marriage being not only a sure passport to their sympathy, but acting as a sort of insurance against any too ambitious hopes that his friendly attentions might arouse. From the day, now some months ago, when he met Lola Barnhelm, until some time after her accident, he had dropped out of the sight of his friends, and upon his return he offered no explanation for his absence, other than that he had been having a stupid time and was anxious to make up for it. Lola had been the first well-bred girl he had ever known, and all that was good in his nature had been stirred by the first meeting with her. Her reproaches for his deceit about his wife had really hurt him, and the shock he had experienced when he believed himself to have been the cause of her death had been the one terrible experience of his shallow life. He had been taken to the police station, and while waiting for his lawyer to arrange for his release on bail had been informed that the girl was not seriously hurt and that there was no charge against him.