"The deuce she did." Dick's quarters were not, strictly speaking, of the bachelor variety. That is, he had a suite in one of the older apartment houses in the fifties, a building that domiciled more families and middle-aged married couples than sprightly young single gentlemen. Dick had fallen heir to the establishment of an elderly uncle, who had furnished the place some time in the nineties and when he grew too decrepit to keep his foothold in New York had retired to the country, leaving Dick in possession. Even if Dick had been a conspicuously rakish young gentleman, which he was not, the traditional dignity of his surroundings would have certainly protected him from incongruous indiscretion in their vicinity. Betty rose composedly from the pompous red velour couch that ran along the wall under a portrait of a gentleman that looked like a Philip of Spain, but was really Dick's maternal great grandfather. "Why, Betty," Dick said, "this isn't _convenable_ unless you have a chaperon somewhere concealed. We don't do things like this." "I do," Betty said. "I wanted to see you, so I came. In these emancipated days ladies call upon their men friends if they like. It's archaic to prattle of chaperons." "Still we were all brought up in the fear of them." "Mine were brought up in the fear of me. I like this place, Dicky. Why don't you give us more parties in it? You haven't had a crowd here for months." "Everybody's so busy," Dick said, "we don't seem to get together any more. I'm willing to play host any time that the rest want to come." "You mean Nancy is so busy with her old Outside Inn." "You are busy there, too." "I'm not so busy that I wouldn't come here when I was asked, Dicky." "Or even when you weren't?" Dick's smile took the edge off his obviously inhospitable suggestion. "Or even when I wasn't," Betty said impudently. "Won't you sit down, Mr. Thorndyke?" "Can't I call you a cab, Miss Pope?" "I don't wish to go away." "Betty, be reasonable," Dick said, "it's after ten o'clock. It is not usual for me to receive young ladies alone here, and it looks badly. I don't care for myself, of course, but for you it looks badly." "If it's only for me--I don't care how it looks. Come and sit down beside me, and talk to me, Dicky, and I'll tell you really why I came." Dick folded his arms and looked down at her. Betty's piquant little face, olive tinted, and pure oval in contour, was turned up to him confidently; under the close seal turban the soft brown hair framed the childish face, while the big dark eyes danced with mischief. She patted the couch by her side invitingly. "I'll go away in fifteen minutes, Dicky dear. It certainly wouldn't look well if you put me out immediately, after all your establishment knowing that I waited here an hour for you." Dick took out his watch. "Fifteen minutes, then," he said. "What's your trouble, Betty?"