Johnny listened abashed to Mr. Bunny's easy flow of words. It might have occurred to him that this fascinating stranger never spoke of anybody but himself; that his own moods, emotions, ambitions, thoughts so called, occupied him entirely and to the exclusion of all else, for he moved in a world of men rock walled by his own towering egotism. It was wasted labor to try to change the drift of the conversation. Whatever was said instantly reminded Mr. Bunny of himself. At the most, one merely opened up fresh and inviting fields for him to enter and claim his place in the foreground. After supper he cornered quiet Mr. Brown in the office. That gentleman's bad eye had attracted his attention, and he seized the first opportunity to ask Brown how he came by that scar, thus artfully framing a question that covered the eye as well. “Knife slipped while I was picking my teeth,” said Brown, regarding him malevolently. “Say, I thought you might have bit yourself accidental,” responded Mr. Bunny. In the kitchen Johnny was talking earnestly with Mollie, as they washed and dried the supper dishes. “Don't you have nothing to do with that fellow, Mollie——” “Why, Johnny?” “Well, mainly because he's no good. He's the rankest proposition I even stacked up' against, and I've seen 'em as rank as they make 'em.” Mollie puckered her brows thoughtfully. She was fond of Johnny and they were engaged, but all the same she had the very human quality of disliking orders, and Johnny's voice smacked of command. “I thought he was entertaining, and that he had nice table manners,” she said. “Well, I didn't notice 'em if he had. I hate these smart geezers!” “He was awful polite, Johnny.” She wished Johnny to be fair to the stranger; at the same time she felt affronted by his foolish jealousy. “Fresh,” said Johnny, “if you call that being polite.” No more was said then, but somehow when they walked up the trail there was this between them, and they walked farther apart than usual. They were silent, too, a good deal of the time. Moreover it was a short walk; but before they reached the hotel Johnny had returned to the vexed subject of Mr. Bunny and the treatment Mollie was to accord him. “Mollie, you are not going to talk to that fellow any more, are you?” “Certainly I shall talk to him. I am not going to be impolite just because you are,” rejoined Mollie, with a little toss of her head. Johnny flushed hotly, then the color faded from his face. “All right then, if you'd rather talk to him than me, you can, but I won't be here to listen to it—I can tell you that!” They had reached the door by this time, and Mollie, holding her chin very high, said coldly: “Good night, Mr. Severance,—I think I must go in. Thank you for your company.” Johnny gasped, then he said politely: “Good night, Miss Ferguson,” and turned away, while Mollie went up to her room with burning cheeks and smarting eyes.