Arthur Maxwell scarcely spoke a word during the whole drive and Cousin Dotty chattered on in an uninterrupted flow of nothings. Cornelia found herself discussing the game and various plays with a technique newly acquired, and being thankful that she did not have to ride alone with Maxwell—not now—not until she had got herself in hand. It was all right of course, and he was perfectly splendid but she had been a silly little fool and she had to get things set straight again before she cared to meet him as a friend. Oh, it would be all right, she assured herself minute by minute, only she must just get used to it. She hadn’t at all realized how she had been thinking of him and she was glad that the romance of this afternoon had been destroyed, so that she would not find herself in future weakness lingering over any pleasant phrases or little nothings that would link her soul to disappointment. She wanted to be just plain, matter of fact. A respectable girl going out for an afternoon with a respectable man who was soon to be married to another woman who understood all about it. There was nothing whatever the matter with that situation and that was the way she must look at it of course. She must get used to it and gradually make her family understand too. Not that they had thought anything else yet—of course, but it would be well for them to understand from the start that there was no nonsense about her friendship with Maxwell, and that they need not appropriate him in such wholesome manner as they had begun to do. She was a business woman, meant to be a business woman all her life, and she would probably have lots of nice friendships like this one. Thus she reasoned in undertone with herself, the while she discussed tennis with the bored Tommy, and came finally to her own door realizing suddenly that Arthur Maxwell would perhaps not care to have his elegant cousin know from what lowly neighborhoods he selected his friends. But she held her head high as she stood on the pavement to bid them good-bye, and not by the quiver of an eyelash on her flushed cheek did she let them see that she did not like her surroundings. Arthur Maxwell stepped up to the door with her in spite of his cousin’s petulant protest, “Artie, we’ll be _late_ to Aunt Myra’s” and said in a low tone: “This whole afternoon has been spoiled by that poor little idiot, but I’m going to make up for it soon, see if I don’t. I’m sorry I have a director’s meeting this evening or I’d ask if I might return to dinner, but I’m going to be late as it is when I get those two poor fools to their destination, so I’ll have to forego, but suppose I come over tomorrow evening and go to church with you? May I? Then afterwards perhaps we’ll have a little chance to talk.” Cornelia smiled and assented, and hurried up to dash cold water over her hot cheeks and burning eyes, and then down to the kitchen where Louise was bustling happily about putting the final touches to the evening meal.