“Perhaps not intentionally,” he admitted, more quietly. “But for my comfort, you see too much of Tom Nichols.” “You are entirely mistaken. I haven’t seen him for some time.” “How about your motor ride with him on Christmas Day?” She colored in spite of herself. “How did you hear of it?” she demanded. “News travels fast when a man boasts....” “I don’t believe it,” she broke in vehemently. “Tom Nichols isn’t that sort. He would keep his word to me to say nothing about it.” “Ah, then your intimacy has reached the stage of mutual secrets!” Barnard’s brow darkened. “Now, once for all this _platonic friendship_,” with biting sarcasm, “must stop. As your fiancé, I forbid you to have anything further to do with him.” “And suppose I refuse?” Janet drew her furs about her, and flung back her head defiantly. Her blood was up. “You will do nothing so foolish.” “I shall, too.” Janet’s eyes blazed back into his. “And I want you to understand that our engagement is broken.” Barnard’s smile was his only answer as he contemplated her, and despite the warmth of the room and her furs, Janet felt a chill strike to her heart, and the pupils of her eyes distended with fear as Barnard bent toward her across the table. “Pauline Calhoun-Cooper has missed her bracelet,” he said quietly. Janet crimsoned; then turned deathly pale. Fearing she would faint, Barnard raised his tea-spoon and struck his empty goblet until the glass vibrated loudly. While waiting for the waitress, he again addressed his silent companion. “Do you still wish our engagement broken?” “No,” faintly. “You will drop Tom Nichols?” Getting no answer, he repeated his question with more insistence. “Yes,” she promised; but the monosyllable was even fainter and more reluctant than the first. “Good!” Barnard smiled sunnily upon her; his anger and jealousy a thing of the past. “I know you will keep faith with me, my darling,” then he added in a different tone, as their waitress appeared. “Will you please bring us some more ice water.” “I--I--must go,” Janet clutched her bag and gloves in desperate haste. She felt that she should scream if she remained in the room a moment longer. She was shivering from head to foot. “No, no, it’s still early,” remonstrated Barnard. “You haven’t finished your muffin.” But Janet shook her head. “I must go,” she reiterated; and Barnard, a past-master in knowing when to concede a point, rose to his feet. As they made their way to the door, they passed Judge and Mrs. Walbridge, and the latter stopped them. “I never saw two people so interested in each other,” she declared breezily; then added with elephantine playfulness, “Of course, Mr. Barnard was only telling you, Miss Fordyce, about his law cases.” “Of course,” answered Barnard, the twinkle in his eyes belying his serious expression. “I was just mentioning to Miss Fordyce that crime knows no sex.”