“Oh, well, do me something in free verse; you don’t need even an idea for that!” “Ah, the reality doesn’t need metrical embellishment!” “Thanks so much; I ought to have something clever to hand back to you. Constance always know just what to say to a man. I have the courage, but I haven’t the brains for a first-class flirt.” “Men are timid creatures,” he said mournfully. “I haven’t the slightest initiative in these matters. You are charming and the light of your eyes was stolen from the stars. Does that have the right ring?” “Well, hardly! You’re not intense enough! You make me feel as though I were a freak of some kind. Oh, George----” “Yes, Nellie----” Whitford answered from the piano. “You must teach Bruce to flirt. His education’s been neglected.” “He’s in good hands now!” Whitford replied. “Oh, Bruce is hopeless!” exclaimed Connie, who was seated beside Whitford at the piano. “I gave him a try-out and he refused to play!” “Then I give up right now!” Mrs. Burton cried in mock despair. Bruce half suspected that she and Whitford had not met at Constance’s quite as casually as they pretended. But it was not his affair, and he was not averse to making a fourth member of a party that promised at least a little gaiety. Mrs. Burton was examining him as to the range of his acquaintance in the town, and what had prompted him to settle there, and what he thought of the place--evoking the admission (always expected of newcomers) that it was a place singularly marked by its generous hospitality--when she asked with a jerk of the head toward Constance and Whitford: “What would you do with a case like that?” “What would I do with it?” asked Bruce, who had been answering her questions perfunctorily, his mind elsewhere. Constance and Whitford, out of sight in the adjoining room, were talking in low tones to the fitful accompaniment of the piano. Now and then Constance laughed happily. “It really oughtn’t to go on, you know!” continued Mrs. Burton. “Those people are _serious_! But--what is one to do?” “My dear Nellie, I’m not a specialist in such matters!” said Bruce, not relishing her evident desire to discuss their hostess. “Some of their friends--I’m one of them--are _worried_! I know Helen Torrence has talked to Constance. She really ought to catch herself up. Shep’s so blind--poor boy! It’s a weakness of his to think everyone perfectly all right!” “It’s a noble quality,” remarked Bruce dryly. “You don’t think Shep would object to this party?” “There’s the point! Connie isn’t stupid, you know! She asked me to come just so she could keep George for dinner. And being a good fellow, I came! I’m ever so glad you showed up. I might be suspected of helping things along! But with you here the world might look through the window!” “Then we haven’t a thing to worry about!” said Bruce with finality.