_Stuart._ But as he gets more interested, he changes. He makes his attentions and feelings too marked—something no girl likes. Then he is cross and moody when she does not give him most of her time and dances. He is inclined to be jealous of every Tom, Dick, and Harry who comes near her, and absurdly tries to dictate what she shall do and not do; which she resents. In short, the very strength of his love makes him an entirely different kind of a man. He is neither companionable nor entertaining; he is both surly and passionate. Do you blame her for repulsing him? _Fred._ No, you are right. I know I’ve given her reason for turning me the cold shoulder. _Stuart._ Then if you’ve known this, why haven’t you behaved yourself? _Fred._ I’ve tried to, over and over again; but when I see such cads as Van Tromp and Newbank and the rest of the pack around her, I get perfectly desperate. _Stuart._ And why? Now, Van Tromp is not only a fool, which I suppose is the fault of his ancestors, but he is so impecunious that every girl who has money must suspect his motives. Newbank is wealthy, but is the kind of man who makes one think of Wendell Phillips’ remark, that “the Lord showed his estimate of money by the people he gave it to.” Why should you be jealous of such rivals? You stand at least as good a chance as they. _Fred._ No I don’t. Look here, I’ve just been made a member of the firm. That will give me something like $4,000 a year at first. How can I ask a girl living as she does to try and get along on that? _Stuart._ You forget her own income. _Fred._ That’s just what I can’t do. I’ve tried to tell her that I love her, but her money makes the words stick in my throat. _Stuart._ And yet Van Tromp, who hasn’t a cent in the world, and never will have, if he has to make it himself, will say it as glibly as need be. _Fred._ It’s that makes me desperate. I try to be good company, but I feel all the time as if it weren’t an even race, and so I can’t. _Stuart._ My dear boy, no race in this world is even. If it were anything but a woman’s heart in question, I would bet on you as the winner; but as that commodity is only to be represented by the algebraic _x_, I never wager on it. _Fred (scornfully)._ How learnedly a bachelor does talk of women’s hearts! One would think he had broken a lot in order to examine their contents. _Stuart (a little angrily)._ I never lost a girl through faint heart,—or lost my temper with both her and my best friend. _Fred (apologetically)._ There! Of course you are right and I am a fool. _Stuart (looking at watch)._ There being no dissent to that opinion, and the ladies being now ready to see us, you had better go downstairs and show Miss Wortley that the Fred Stevens of a year ago is still in the flesh. _Fred (going to b. d.)._ And you? _Stuart._ I’ll stay here and have a cigar. [_Exit_ FRED, _b. d._