When the evening came, Barry found Welty awaiting him at the café. The two sat down at a table. The preliminary cocktail had only arrived when in walked the collegian. Barry saluted him as if the meeting had only occurred by chance. He made the collegian and Welty known to each other by name only. And then he ordered dinner. When a bottle had been drunk, Barry innocently turned the current of the conversation to women. He spoke modestly of a mythical conquest he had recently made. The football player listened without showing much interest. Presently Barry paused. Welty took a drink and began: “No, my boy,” said he to Barry, “you're wrong there. It's like you youngsters to think you know all about the sex, but the older you grow the less you think you know about them, until you get to my age.” Barry made no answer, but looked at Welty with becoming deference. The football man's eyes were wandering about the café, showing him to be indifferent to the theme of discussion. “I know,” continued Welty, “that many more or less writers have said, as you say, that women must be sought and pursued to be won. They deduce that theory from the habits of lower animals and of barbarous nations, in which the man obtains the woman by chase and force. But it's all a theory, and simply shows that the learned writers study their books instead of their fellow men and women.” The collegian looked restless, as if the conversation had gotten beyond his depth. Barry remained silent, and with a flattering aspect of great interest in Welty's observations. “Now,” went on Welty, striking the table with the bottom of his glass, “I've had a little experience of this sort of thing in my time, and I can say that in nine cases out of ten, once you've attracted the attention of your game, let it alone and it will chase you. That's how to win women.” The collegian looked bored. “Just to illustrate,” said Welty, “I'll tell of a little conquest of my own. I use it because it is the first that comes to my mind, not that I'm given to bragging about my success in these matters. I suppose you've seen the opera at the ---- Theatre?” The collegian ceased looking bored. Barry McGettigan sat perfectly, unnaturally still. “And,” pursued Welty, “you've doubtless noticed the three girls who appear as the queen's maids of honour?” The collegian looked somewhat concerned. Barry stopped breathing. “Well,” continued Welty, “you mayn't believe it, for we've kept it really quiet, one of them girls is really dead gone on me.” The collegian opened his mouth wide, and Barry began to nervously tap his hand upon the table. “It's the one,” said Welty, “who wears the big blond wig. Her name's Emi--”