As the good-bys were being said at the front door Page remarked to Landry: "You had better go with us as far as the house, so that you can take one of our umbrellas. You can get in with Aunt Wess' and me. There's plenty of room. You can't go home in this storm without an umbrella." Landry at first refused, haughtily. He might be too poor to parade a lot of hansom cabs around, but he was too proud, to say the least, to ride in 'em when some one else paid. Page scolded him roundly. What next? The idea. He was not to be so completely silly. She didn't propose to have the responsibility of his catching pneumonia just for the sake of a quibble. "Some people," she declared, "never seemed to be able to find out that they are grown up." "Very well," he announced, "I'll go if I can tip the driver a dollar." Page compressed her lips. "The man that can afford dollar tips," she said, "can afford to hire the cab in the first place." "Seventy-five cents, then," he declared resolutely. "Not a cent less. I should feel humiliated with any less." "Will you please take me down to the cab, Landry Court?" she cried. And without further comment Landry obeyed. "Now, Miss Dearborn, if you are ready," exclaimed Corthell, as he came up. He held the umbrella over her head, allowing his shoulders to get the drippings. They cried good-by again all around, and the artist guided her down the slippery steps. He handed her carefully into the hansom, and following, drew down the glasses. Laura settled herself comfortably far back in her corner, adjusting her skirts and murmuring: "Such a wet night. Who would have thought it was going to rain? I was afraid you were not coming at first," she added. "At dinner Mrs. Cressler said you had an important committee meeting--something to do with the Art Institute, the award of prizes; was that it?" "Oh, yes," he answered, indifferently, "something of the sort was on. I suppose it was important--for the Institute. But for me there is only one thing of importance nowadays," he spoke with a studied carelessness, as though announcing a fact that Laura must know already, "and that is, to be near you. It is astonishing. You have no idea of it, how I have ordered my whole life according to that idea." "As though you expected me to believe that," she answered. In her other lovers she knew her words would have provoked vehement protestation. But for her it was part of the charm of Corthell's attitude that he never did or said the expected, the ordinary. Just now he seemed more interested in the effect of his love for Laura upon himself than in the manner of her reception of it.