John walked back to his lodgings with him. The two young men found no lack of things to talk about. Haviland took still another cigar. "What did you think of the dinner?" said he finally. "I mean, the people?" "I thought it was very pleasant," said Vane, eluding the second form of the question. But Haviland recurred to it. "I mean the people. Miss Thomas, for instance." "Miss Thomas, for instance," said the stranger. "I think," he continued, recalling to mind his mental label, "she is sweet-tempered, innocent, ambitious, and shallow." Vane had formerly prided himself on some acquaintance with women of the world. John laughed. "Perhaps you are right," he said. "But she will amuse you, and wake you up." It seemed as if he were remembering something; then he laughed again. "You do not do her justice yet. She is one of the most entertaining and, in an innocent little way, exciting girls I know. I put her next you for that purpose." "Who is her father?" "Oh, a stockbroker down-town. No one in particular. The family would not interest you." "None of the mammas were here to-night?" "Dear me, no," answered John. "Why do you ask?" "I should like to see some of them; that is all." V. AT this time Vane was not in the habit of thinking about women. He had found life particularly serious, and girls were not serious. Somewhat fatuously, perhaps, he fancied no woman under thirty could either understand him, or arouse his own interest. And most of the women over thirty were married. He understood that in America any intimacy with married women was out of the question; married women were quite given up to domestic duties, and kept out of society. But Vane had certain theories of his own as to social observances, and he thought it his duty, after taking Miss Thomas in to dinner, to call upon her. He performed this duty (which afterwards became a pleasure) upon the following afternoon. He found her in a somewhat dingy house on East Fifteenth Street, but, though the setting was dull and commonplace, herself was even prettier than he remembered her, and simply and charmingly dressed. Vane was no amateur of bric-à-brac; he had no auctioneer's eye, and, if a room was in perfect taste, did not commonly notice it at all; but glaring faults would force themselves upon him, and he could not help observing that, with the exception of the daughter's dress, the household showed no evidence of knowledge of what is good in literature, art, or taste.