She tossed her head. “What nonsense!” she exclaimed. “You're not out of a job, as you call it. You are a writer and a famous writer. You have written one book and you are going to write more. Besides, you must have made heaps of money from The Lances. Every one has been reading it.” When he told her the amount of his royalty check she expressed the opinion that the publisher must have cheated. It ought to have been ever and ever so much more than that. Such wonderful poems! The next day she went to Brett's and purchased a half dozen of the most expensive ties, which she presented to him forthwith. “There!” she demanded. “Aren't those nicer than the ones you bought at that old department store? Well, then!” “But, Madeline, I must not let you buy my ties.” “Why not? It isn't such an unheard-of thing for an engaged girl to give her fiance a necktie.” “That isn't the idea. I should have bought ties like those myself, but I couldn't afford them. Now for you to--” “Nonsense! You talk as if you were a beggar. Don't be so silly.” “But, Madeline--” “Stop! I don't want to hear it.” She rose and went out of the room. She looked as if she were on the verge of tears. He felt obliged to accept the gift, but he disliked the principle of the things as much as ever. When she returned she was very talkative and gay and chatted all through luncheon. The subject of the ties was not mentioned again by either of them. He was glad he had not told her that his new dress suit was ready-made. While in France, awaiting his return home, he had purchased a ring and sent it to her. She was wearing it, of course. Compared with other articles of jewelry which she wore from time to time, his ring made an extremely modest showing. She seemed quite unaware of the discrepancy, but he was aware of it. On an evening later in the week Mrs. Fosdick gave a reception. “Quite an informal affair,” she said, in announcing her intention. “Just a few intimate friends to meet Mr. Speranza, that is all. Mostly lovers of literature--discerning people, if I may say so.” The quite informal affair looked quite formidably formal to Albert. The few intimate friends were many, so it seemed to him. There was still enough of the former Albert Speranza left in his make-up to prevent his appearing in the least distressed or ill at ease. He was, as he had always been when in the public eye, even as far back as the school dancing-classes with the Misses Bradshaw's young ladies, perfectly self-possessed, charmingly polite, absolutely self-assured. And his good looks had not suffered during his years of imprisonment and suffering. He was no longer a handsome boy, but he was an extraordinarily attractive and distinguished man.