But this rule had failed him once or twice, for in communities of the description of Meadeville social life was more or less democratic and nondescript. When he had thought himself secure on certain occasions, he had bumped right into the McLaughlins and then it behooved him to stick pretty close to Honey all the evening. This was not what he counted on, for Skinner was beginning to enjoy the sweets of broader social intercourse. He was beginning to like to talk with and dance with other women. At times, when Skinner had received information at the last moment that the McLaughlins were to be at a party, he had affected a headache. On one of these occasions, Honey had set her heart on going and told Skinner that the Lewises had offered to take her along with them in case he should be delayed at the office--for Skinner had even pretended once or twice to be thus delayed. Presto! at Honey's words about the Lewises, Dearie's headache had disappeared. Skinner thought with a humorous chuckle how Honey had said, "Dearie, I believe you're jealous of Tom Lewis." "Perhaps I am," the miserable Skinner had admitted. Skinner pictured the effect of exposure in all sorts of dramatic ways. But not once did he see himself suffering--only Honey. That's what worried him. He could bear pain without flinching, but he could not bear seeing other persons bear pain--particularly Honey. He knew he could throw himself on her mercy and confess and that she would forgive him because she'd know he did it on her account. But the hurt, the real hurt, would be hers to bear--and Skinner loved Honey. Whenever Skinner had felt apprehensive or blue because of his self-promotion and the consequent difficulties he found himself plunged into, he had looked at his little book, and the credit side of the dress-suit account had always cheered him. But this infallible method was not infallible to-night. Going out on the train Skinner had the "blues" and "had them good." Gloom was closing in on all sides; he could n't tell why, unless the growing fear of exposure to Honey was taking hold on his subconsciousness and manifesting itself in chronic, indefinite apprehension. At Meadeville, he purposely avoided Black, his next-door neighbor, with whom he customarily walked home from the depot--for Skinner was not the man to inflict an uncordial condition upon an innocent person. When Skinner reached home, Honey drew him gently into the dining-room and pointed to the table. As she began, "Look, Dearie, oysters, and later--beefsteak! Think of it! Beefsteak!"--the now familiar formula that had come to portend some new extravagance,--Dearie stopped her. "Don't, Honey, don't tell me what you've got for dinner, course by course. Give me the whole thing at once, or give me a series of surprises as dinner develops."