While Bruce might bury himself from the sight of others who had manifested a friendly interest in him, Helen Torrence was not so easily denied. She had no intention of going alone to the February play of the Dramatic Club. She telephoned Bruce to this effect and added that he must dine with her that evening and take her to the club. Bud had already sent him an admission card with a warning not to come if anything better offered, such as sitting up with a corpse--this being Bud’s manner of speaking of the organization whose politics he dominated and whose entertainments he would not have missed for a chance to dine with royalty. Bruce, having reached the Torrence house, found Millicent there. “You see what you get for being good!” cried Helen, noting the surprise and pleasure in Bruce’s face as he appeared in her drawing room. “I thought you’d probably run when you saw me,” said Millicent. “You passed me at the post office door yesterday and looked straight over my head. I never felt so small in my life.” “Post office?” Bruce repeated. “I haven’t been near the place for weeks!” “That will do from you!” warned Helen. “We all thought you’d be a real addition to our sad social efforts here, but it’s evident you don’t like us. It’s very discouraging. You were at Connie’s, though, to hear her lion roar. I saw you across the room. Connie always gets the men! Your friend Bud insulted everybody there; I see him selling any more Plantagenets!” “Bud’s patriotism leads him astray sometimes; that’s all. Any more scolding, Millicent?” Bruce asked. “Let me see--we had arrived at the stage of first names, hadn’t we?” “Yes, Bruce! But after the long separation it might be as well to go back to the beginning. As for scolding, let’s consider that we’ve signed an armistice.” “I don’t like the military lingo; it sounds as though there had been war between us.” “Dear me!” Helen interposed mournfully. “You’re not going to spend the whole evening in preliminaries! Let’s go out to dinner.”