"Oh, just one of your little affairs." And she began to poke fun at him. "I thought you had dropped that sort of thing for good and all. I hope Josie won't hear of it. She'd not understand. Women never do--unless they don't care a rap about the man. . . . Is she on the stage? I know you'll not tell me, but I like to ask." Her brother looked at her rather wildly. "Let's go home," he said. He was astounded and alarmed by the discovery that his infatuation had whirled him to the lunacy of longing to confide--and he feared lest, if he should stay on, he would blurt out his disgraceful secret. "Waiter, the bill." "Don't let's go yet," urged his sister. "The most interesting people are beginning to come. Besides, I want more champagne." He yielded. While she gazed round with the air of a visitor to a Zoo that is affected by fashionable people, and commented on the faces, figures, and clothes of the women, he stared at his plate and smoked and drank. Finally she said, "I'd give anything to see you make a fool of yourself, just once." He grinned. "Things are in the way to having your wish gratified," he said. "It looks to me as if my time had come." She tried to conceal her anxiety. "Are you serious?" she asked. Then added: "Of course not. You simply couldn't. Especially now--when Josephine might hear. I suppose you've noticed how Joe Culver is hanging round her?" He nodded. "There's no danger--unless----" "I shall marry Josephine." "Not if she hears." "She's not going to hear." "Don't be too sure. Women love to boast. It tickles their vanity to have a man. Yes, they pretend to be madly in love simply to give themselves the excuse for tattling." "She'll not hear." "You can't be sure." "I want you to help me out. I'm going to tell her I'm tremendously busy these few next days--or weeks." "Weeks!" Ursula Fitzhugh laughed. "My, it must be serious!" "Weeks," repeated her brother. "And I want you to say things that'll help out--and to see a good deal of her." He flung down his cigar. "You women don't understand how it is with a man." "Don't we though! Why, it's a very ordinary occurrence for a woman to be really in love with several men at once." His eyes gleamed jealously. "I don't believe it," he cried. "Not Josephine," she said reassuringly. "She's one of those single-hearted, untemperamental women. They concentrate. They have no imagination." "I wasn't thinking of Josephine," said he sullenly. "To go back to what I was saying, I am in love with Josephine and with no one else. I can't explain to you how or why I'm entangled. But I'll get myself untangled all right--and very shortly." "I know that, Fred. You aren't the permanent damn-fool sort." "I should say not!" exclaimed he. "It's a hopeful sign that I know exactly how big a fool I am."