"I'm ready to answer for anything I know. You can't expect me to be responsible for what I don't know anything about." He slapped his knee. "What are you doing in that particular chair? Even if you're going to Boston, why aren't you somewhere else?" "That's easily explained. You told me to get two tickets by this train. Knowing that I was to travel by it myself I asked for three. I dare say it was stupid of me not to think that the propinquity would be open to objection; but as it's a public conveyance, and there's not generally anything secret or special about a trip of the kind--" "Why in thunder didn't you get a drawing-room, as I told you to?" "For the reason I've given--there were none to be had. If you could have taken me into your confidence a little--But I suppose that wasn't possible." To this there was no response, but a series of muttered oaths that bore the same relation to soliloquy as a frenzied lion's growl. For some twenty minutes they sat in the same attitudes, Strangways quiet, watchful, alert, ready for any turn the situation might take, the other man stretched on the arm of his chair, indifferent to comfort, cursing spasmodically, perplexity on his forehead, rage in his eyes, and something that was folly, futility, and helplessness all over him. Almost no further conversation passed between them till they got out in Boston. In the crowd Strangways endeavored to go off by himself, but found Mr. Grainger constantly beside him. He was beside him when they reached the place where taxicabs were called, and ordered his porter to call one. "Get in," he said, then. Larry Strangways protested. "I'm going to--" I must be sufficiently unlady-like to give Mr. Grainger's response just as it was spoken, because it strikes me as characteristic of men. "Oh, hell! Get in. You're coming with me." Characteristic of men was the rest of the evening. In spite of what had happened--and had not happened--Messrs. Grainger and Strangways partook of an excellent supper together, eating and drinking with appetite, and smoking their cigars with what looked like an air of tranquillity. Though the fury of the balked wild animal returned to Stacy Grainger by fits and starts, it didn't interfere with his relish of his food and only once did it break its bounds. That was when he struck the arm of his chair, saying beneath his breath, and yet audibly enough for his secretary to hear: "She funked it--damn her!" Larry Strangways then took it on himself to say: "I don't know the lady, sir, to whom you refer, nor the reasons she may have had for funking it, but may I advise you for your own peace of mind to withdraw the two concluding syllables?" A pair of fierce, melancholy eyes rested on him for a second uncomprehendingly. "All right," the crestfallen lover groaned heavily at last. "I may as well take them back." Characteristic of women were my experiences while this was happening.