"I am very fond of dancing," said he, and then added with a smile: "Especially since the girls have taken to parking their corsets." There was a shocked silence, broken by Miss Grady, who, as a dressmaker, was not quite so finicky about the word. "What do you mean by parking?" she inquired. "Same as you park an automobile," said he, enjoying the sensation he had created. "It's the fashion now, among the best families as well as the worst, for the girls when they go to dances to leave their corsets in the dressing rooms. Check 'em, same as you do your hat." "Bless my soul," gasped Mr. Pollock. "Haven't they got any mothers?" "Sure,--but the mothers don't know anything about it. You see, it's this way. We fellows won't dance with 'em if they've got corsets on,--so off they come." "What's the world coming to?" cried the editor. "You'd better ask where it's going to," said Charlie Webster. "Do you go to the opera very often?" asked Miss Miller nervously. He spoke rather loftily of the Metropolitan Opera House, and very lightly of the Metropolitan Museum,--and gave Charlie Webster a sharp look when that amiable gentleman asked him what he thought of the Metropolitan Tower. But he was at home in the theatre. He told them just what Maude Adams and Ethel Barrymore were like, and Julia Marlowe, and Elsie Ferguson, and Chrystal Herne, and all the rest of them. He spoke familiarly of Mr. Faversham as "Favvy," of Mr. Collier as "Willie," of Mr. Sothern as "Ned," of Mr. Drew as "John," of Mr. Skinner as "Otis," of Mr. Frohman as "Dan." And when he said good night and reluctantly wended his way to the room at the end of the hall, round the corner of which the fierce October gale shrieked derisively, he left behind him a group enthralled. "Isn't he a perfect dear?" cried Mrs. Pollock, clasping her hands. "The most erudite man I have ever met," agreed Miss Miller ecstatically. "Don't you think so, Mr. Hatch?" Mr. Hatch was startled. "Oh,--er--yes, indeed. Absolutely!" he stammered, and then looked inquiringly at his finger nails. He hoped he had made the proper response. Charlie Webster ambled over to one of the windows and peered out into the whistling night. "It's an ill wind that blows nobody any good," said he sententiously. "What do you mean by that, Charlie?" inquired Flora Grady, at his elbow. "Well, if it had been a pleasant night he'd have been up at Alix Crown's instead of here," said Charlie. "I see," said Flora, after a moment. "You mean the ill wind favoured Alix, eh?" Charlie's round face was unsmiling as he stared hard at the fire. "I wonder--" he began, and then checked the words. "Don't you worry about Alix," said Flora. "She's nobody's fool." "I wasn't thinking of Alix just then," said Charlie. II The following morning, Courtney went, as was his custom, to the postoffice. He had arranged for a lock-box there. His letters were not brought up to the Tavern by old Jim House, the handy-man.