She had to go and dress. But she could not leave until she had tried to make him comfortable. He was drinking brandy and soda and staring at his feet which were stretched straight out toward the fire. "Where's your sense of humor?" she demanded. "Throw yourself on your sense of humor. It's a friend that sticks when all others fail." "It's my only hope," he said with a grim smile. "I can see myself. No wonder she despises me." "Despises you?" scoffed Ursula. "A _woman_ despise _you_! She's crazy about you, I'll bet anything you like. Before you're through with this you'll find out I'm right. And then--you'll have no use for her." "She despises me." "Well--what of it? Really, Fred, it irritates me to see you absolutely unlike yourself. Why, you're as broken-spirited as a henpecked old husband." "Just that," he admitted, rising and looking drearily about. "I don't know what the devil to do next. Everything seems to have stopped." "Going to see Josephine this evening?" "I suppose so," was his indifferent reply. "You'll have to dress after dinner. There's no time now." "Dress?" he inquired vaguely. "Why dress? Why do anything?" She thought he would not go to Josephine but would hide in his club and drink. But she was mistaken. Toward nine o'clock he, in evening dress, with the expression of a horse in a treadmill, rang the bell of Josephine's house and passed in at the big bronze doors. The butler must have particularly admired the way he tossed aside his coat and hat. As soon as he was in the presence of his fiancee he saw that she was again in the throes of some violent agitation. She began at once: "I've just had the most frightful scene with father," she said. "He's been hearing a lot of stuff about you down town and it set him wild." "Do you mind if I smoke a cigar?" said he, looking at her unseeingly with haggard, cold eyes. "And may I have some whisky?"