The orchestra was playing a Hungarian dance--its erratic harmonies and wild alternations of expression falling abruptly across the pinks and blues, the gilding and lights of the pretty, conventional theatre. Something in the suggestion of unfitness appealed to Loder. It was the force of the real as opposed to the ideal. With a new expression on his face, he turned again to Kaine. “And how does it work?” he said. “This treatment that you find so--French?” His voice as well as his expression had changed. He still spoke quietly, but he spoke with interest. He was no longer conscious of his vague and uneasiness; a fresh chord had been struck in his mind, and his curiosity had responded to it. For the first time it occurred to him that love--the dangerous, mysterious garden whose paths had so suddenly stretched out before his own feet--was a pleasure-ground that possessed many doors--and an infinite number of keys. He was stirred by the desire to peer through another entrance than his own, to see the secret, alluring byways from another stand-point. He waited with interest for the answer to his question. For a second or two Kaine continued to survey the house; then his eye-glass dropped from his eye and he turned round. “To understand the thing,” he said, pleasantly, “you must have read the book. Have you read the book?” “No, Mr. Kaine,” Mary Esseltyn interrupted, “Mr. Chilcote hasn't read the book.” Lillian laughed. “Outline the story for him, Lennie,” she said. “I love to see other people taking pains.” Kaine glanced at her admiringly. “Well, to begin with,” he said, amiably, “two men, an artist and a millionaire, exchange lives. See?” “You may presume that he does see, Lennie.” “Right! Well, then, as I say, these beggars change identities. They're as like as pins; and to all appearances one chap's the other chap--and the other chap's the first chap. See?” Loder laughed. The newly quickened interest was enhanced by treading on dangerous ground. “Well, they change for a lark, of course, but there's one fact they both overlook. They're men, you know, and they forget these little things!” He laughed delightedly. “They overlook the fact that one of 'em has got a wife!” There was a crash of music from the orchestra. Loder sat straighter in his seat; he was conscious that the blood had rushed into his face. “Oh, indeed?” he said, quickly. “One of them had a wife?” “Exactly!” Again Kaine chuckled. “And the point of the joke is that the wife is the least larky person under the sun. See?” A second hot wave passed over Loder's face; a sense of mental disgust filled him. This, then, was the wonderful garden seen from another stand-point! He looked from Lillian, graceful, sceptical, and shallow, to the young girl beside him, so frankly modern in her appreciation of life. This, then, was love as seen by the eyes of the world--the world that accepts, judges, and condemns in a slang phrase or two! Very slowly the blood receded from his face.