“Why?” said Crowninshield. “Because the three people concerned in the story that he has furnished a foundation for, are my friends.” “So they are his,” said Van Cortlandt; “so they are ours. That’s what makes it interesting. What’s the use of friends,” he went on, “if you can’t enjoy their domestic difficulties?” Mr. Carteret rose. “That is a matter of opinion,” he said stiffly. “Well,” retorted Van Cortlandt, “there’s nothing one can do about it.” “Have you ever tried?” said Mr. Carteret. “Have you?” said Van Cortlandt. Mr. Carteret made no reply. He turned on his heel and left the room. Half-suppressed laughter followed him into the hall, and he went on to the billiard room to “cool out,” as he expressed it. He was very angry. He paced several times to and fro beside the pool-table; then, with a sudden determination, he walked rapidly out of the club and got into his motor. “Go to Mr. Palfrey’s,” he said to the chauffeur. “Hurry.” A few blocks up the avenue the car drew up to the curb, and he got out. He crossed the sidewalk, and disappeared into the great apartment house where Palfrey had his rooms. Half an hour later he came out and hurriedly entered the car. He motioned to the chauffeur to change places. “I’ll drive,” he said. “How is your gasolene?” “The tank’s full, sir,” said the man. “Good,” he answered. He started the car, and began to thread his way up the avenue. At 59th street the clock on the dash-board said ten minutes to six. He turned into the Park and ran through the avenues at a speed which made arrest imminent, yet he escaped. The Park was a miracle of flowering things, of elms feathering into leaf, of blossom fragrances, of robins at their sunset singing; but Mr. Carteret was unaware of it all. At ten minutes past six he was in the open country. Here he opened the throttle and advanced the spark. He called upon the great machine for speed, and the great machine lifted its shrill roar and gave generously. The clock and the trembling finger of the speedometer showed that many of the miles and minutes passed together. At ten minutes of seven he turned into the gateway of a great country-place, and a few moments later came upon its master on the west terrace. Evanston greeted him pleasantly, but was evidently surprised to see him. “Did you motor down?” he asked. “Yes,” said Mr. Carteret; “sixty minutes from 59th street.” Evanston gave a low exclamation. “It wasn’t difficult,” said Mr. Carteret, “the road’s very good.” An awkward silence followed, which both men felt. “Lovely view,” said Mr. Carteret, looking off across the lake toward the sunset. Then there was another silence. Evanston broke it. “Have you still got that horse that you wanted to sell me?” “I think so,” said Mr. Carteret; “but I’m not trading horses this afternoon.” His voice changed and he looked at Evanston. “Frank,” he said, “can you keep your temper?” “I’ve had some practice,” said Evanston. “Why?”