They rose at Phil's entrance with a mingling, eager chatter of explanation. Phil later--much later--admitted to me that he had never felt till that moment how damnably he was past forty, and how fatally Susan was not. He further admitted that it was far from the most agreeable discovery of a studious life. "What do you think, Prof. Farmer," exclaimed Jimmy, "of our meeting again accidentally like this--and me not knowing Susan! You can't beat that much for a small world!" Phil sought Susan's eye, and was somewhat relieved by the quizzical though delighted gleam in it. "Well, Jimmy," he responded gravely, "truth compels me to state that I have heard of stranger encounters--less inevitable ones, at least. I really have." "But you never heard of a nicer one," said Susan. "Haven't I always told you and Ambo that Jimmy would be like this?" "Sort of foolish?" grinned Jimmy, with reawakening constraint. "I'll bet you have, too." Susan shook her head, solemn and slow; but the corners of her mouth meant mischief. "No, Jimmy, not foolish; just--natural. Just--sort of--_you_." At this point, Jimmy hastily remembered that he must beat it, pleading what Phil knew to be an imaginary recitation. But he did not escape without finding himself invited to dinner for that very evening, informally of course--Susan suspected the absence of even a dinner coat: Phil would bring him. It was really Phil who accepted for him, while Jimmy was still muddling through his thanks and toiling on to needless apologies. "If I've been too"--he almost said "fresh," but sank to--"familiar, calling you by your first name, I mean--I wouldn't like you to think--but coming all of a sudden like this, what I mean is----" "Oh, run along!" called Susan gayly. "Forget it, Jimmy! You're spoiling everything." "That's what I m-mean," stammered Jimmy, and was gone. "But he does mean well, Susan," Phil pleaded for him, after closing the door. It puzzled him to note that Susan's face instantly clouded; there was reproof in her tone. "That was patronizing, Phil. I won't have anybody patronize Jimmy. He's perfect." Phil was oddly nettled by this reproof and grew stubborn and detached. "He's a nice boy, certainly; and has the makings of a real man. I believe in him. Still--heaven knows!--he's not precisely a subtle soul." Susan's brow had cleared again. "That's what I m-mean!" she laughed, mimicking Jimmy without satire, as if for the pure pleasure of recollection. "The truth is, Phil, I'm rather fed up on subtlety--especially my own. Sometimes I think it's just a polite term for futility, with a dash of intellectual snobbishness thrown in. It must be saner, cleaner, healthier, to take life straight."