"The man who gets Eleanor Gray--and especially if Bertram Chester is the man--cannot take her by assault. If you reach out to grasp her--you who are so strong--it will only break something in that delicate nature of hers. Don't woo. Serve. Don't even see her too often. Don't renew that scene on the balcony--never make that mistake again. When you are with her, show by your attitude how you feel, and show her--well, that you're learning the things you've asked me to teach you--the things I'm going to teach you." "It's sure a pink tea program," said Bertram. Kate laughed. "Bert Chester, when you make your dying speech from the scaffold you're going to say something original and funny. You can't help it. Now can you?" The smile broke again on Bertram's face. "Well, it has its funny side," he admitted. "All right. If refinement's the game, me to it." His smile had caught Kate's laugh, and there came between them a kind of mental click. Soft gratitude sprang into his heart and quivered on his lips. "You're a bully girl! I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have you to talk it over with. And you really do understand lots about women and those things--where did you learn it?" The smile went out of Kate. She drooped her eyes and let her pink nails flutter on the tablecloth. "Suffering and experience, I suppose." "Could I--would you tell me about it?" She looked up with an air of sweet sincerity. "I should like very much to tell you. You could help me as much as you say I'm helping you. Some other time, we'll have that all out together. You see, when one has held a thing in her heart for a long time--well, it's a struggle at first to get it out. But sometime when I'm in the mood!" And then he discovered that an appointment at the office was overdue. While they went through the formalities of checks and wraps, she talked foolish nothings. He parted with her hurriedly to run after a Market Street cable car. "We're going to be the best chums in the world," he said as he shook hands. "Indeed we are!" She watched him as he ran after the car, swung on the platform with the easy economy of motion which belongs to the athlete. But just before he set his foot on the platform and looked back at her, she herself whirled and started down the street, so that he saw only her trim back-figure, the glint of her bronze hair, the easy grace of her walk. CHAPTER XI