"'Mrs. Emmons,' he says, when she come to the door, 'I've come because I hear that you like ten o'clock, and so do I. I wanted to ask if you've ever been able to make it last?' "'No,' she says. 'I prefer a new one every night--and this one to-night is an exceptionally good one.' "She always answered back so pretty. I feel glad when folks can. It's like they had an extra brain to 'em. "Insley went in, and he sort of filled up the whole room, the way some men do. He wasn't so awful big, either. But he was pervading. Christopher had gone to bed, and Robin Sidney was sitting there near a big crock of hollyhocks--she could make the centre and life of a room a crock full of flowers just as you can make it a fireplace. "'Come in,' she says, 'and see what we bought Christopher. I wanted to put him in black velvet knickerbockers or silver armour, but Aunt Eleanor has bought chiefly khaki middies. She's such a sensible relative.' "'What are we going to do with him?' Insley asks. I loved the way he always said 'we' about everything. Not 'they' or 'you,' but always, 'What are _we_ going to do.' "'I'll keep him awhile,' Mis' Emmons says, 'and see what develops. If I weren't going to Europe this fall--but something may happen. Things do. Calliope,' she says to me, 'did I buy what I ought to have bought?' "I went over to see the things spread out on the table, and Insley turned round to where Robin was. I don't really believe he had been very far away from where she was since the night before, when Christopher come. And he got right into what he had to say, like he was impatient for the sympathy in her eyes and in her voice. "'I must tell you,' he says. 'I could hardly wait to tell you. Isn't it great to be knocked down and picked up again, without having to get back on your own feet. I--wanted to tell you.' "'Tell me,' she says. And she looked at him in her nice, girl way that lent him her eyes in good faith for just a minute and then took them back again. "'I've been to see Alex Proudfit,' he said. 'I've dined with him.' "I don't think she said anything at all, but Insley went on, absorbed in what he was saying. "'I talked with him,' he says, 'about what we talked of last night--the things to do, here in the village. I thought he might care--I was foolish enough for that. Have you ever tried to open a door in a solid wall? When I left there, I felt as if I'd tried just that. Seriously, have you ever tried to talk about the way things are going to be and to talk about it to a perfectly satisfied man?' "Robin leaned forward, but I guess he thought that was because of her sympathy. He went right on:-- "'I want never to speak of this to anyone else, but I can't help telling you. You--understand. You know what I'm driving at. Alex Proudfit is a good man--as men are counted good. And he's a perfect host, a fascinating companion. But he's a type of the most dangerous selfishness that walks the world--'