Eleanor started to rise, but the red-faced one lifted a protesting voice. "See here, young man," he blustered. "You can't run off with this little girl just when I've got my first chance at her this evening. She's going to stay right here and let me make love to her--isn't she?" He turned a confident eye upon Eleanor, and even ventured to lay a plump detaining finger on her cool, slim wrist. Eleanor rose instantly. "I thought you were never coming!" she said impatiently over the stout man's head, "I've been ready to go for an hour!" CHAPTER 30 Down in the open square, under the clear cool stars, they looked at each other and laughed. "Lead me to a bus!" cried Quin. "I want to ride on top of it where the wind can blow through my whiskers. My head feels like a joss-house!" "Oh, but you were funny!" cried Eleanor. "I wish you could have seen your face when all those women swarmed around you. I was afraid you were going to jump out of the window! Did you ever feel anything so hot and stuffy as that room? And weren't they all silly and make-believe?" Quin gave a mighty sigh of relief at being out of it. "Is this the sort of thing you get let in for often?" he inquired, aghast. "Oftener than I like. You see, all those people are Papa Claude's old friends, and he's been having a lovely time showing me off as he showed you off to-night." "But you surely don't _like_ it?" "Of course I don't. And they know it. They are already calling me a prig, and poking fun at me for not smoking and for not liking to have my hands patted and my cheeks pinched. Isn't it funny, Quin? At home I was always miserable because there were too many barriers; I wanted to tear them all down. Here, where there aren't any, I find myself building them up at every turn, and getting furious when people climb over them." "Bartlett _versus_ Martel, eh?" "I suppose so. Heaven knows, I wish I were one thing or the other." "Oh, I don't know," said Quin. "You are pretty nice just as you are." Then he added inconsequently: "Who was that fat man you were talking to when I came up?" "Mr. Pfingst. He is Estelle Linton's backer." "Backer?" queried Quin. Then, when he saw Eleanor's eyes drop, he added vaguely: "Oh! I see!" For the next block, strange to say, he did not think so much about Eleanor as he did about Miss Isobel Bartlett. The whole situation kept presenting itself through her austere eyes, and instinctively he put a protecting hand on Eleanor's elbow. When at last they were on top of the bus, with the big, noisy city apparently going in the opposite direction, they promptly forgot all about the studio party and plunged headlong into their own important affairs. "Begin at the _very_ beginning," commanded Eleanor, settling herself for a good long ride; "I want you to tell me everything."