After a short time Raymond began to feel the pressure of Nancy's little body in his arms--when their dance was over. He began to resent other arms about her. Her eyes were lovely--so blue and sympathetic. She never set a man guessing. Raymond had had enough of guessing! About that time Mrs. Tweksbury added an urge to her heart's desire that she little suspected. "Ken," she remarked one morning, "I dropped into the Brier Tea Room yesterday." It was the _brier_ that signified the meaning of the place to the old lady. "Do you remember?" Raymond nodded. Did he _not_ remember! "The place is quite ordinary now--but the food is still superior. Miss Gordon has come to her senses." "Has she?" Raymond asked, lamely. "Yes. And that girl--do you remember her, Ken?" Raymond nodded again. "Just as one might expect," Mrs. Tweksbury rattled on, keeping to her one-tracked idea of things, "the minx ran off with a man, never considering Miss Gordon at all." "I doubt if Miss Gordon could see any one's side but her own," ventured Raymond. "Ken, that's unjust. The girl was a little fraud, and I think Miss Gordon is heartily ashamed of herself for having resorted to such cheap methods to get trade. She has young Scotch girls helping her now. No more tricks, says Miss Gordon." There was a pause. "I thought for a time, Ken, that that girl was one of our kind--risking far too much. I'm not usually mistaken in blood, but--the creature was a good counterfeit; I'm glad she's gone. Say what you will, we older women know the young man needs protection as well as the young women." "Oh! Aunt Emily, cut it out!" Raymond got up and stalked about. This added to Mrs. Tweksbury's uneasiness. For days after that talk Raymond had his uncomfortable hours. He wished he knew about the girl of the tea room. It was "the girl" now. If she were only unscathed the future would be safer for everyone. But how could he--Raymond was getting into the meshes--how could he run to safety and happiness and forget, if he had really harmed, in any way, a girl who might have cared? The difference between playing with fire and being burned by fire was clear now. Had that hour, when the beast in him rampaged, killed forever the ideal she had had? Was she saved by his madness? Or had she been driven on the rocks? If he only knew! Raymond still had moments when he believed that the girl would materialize in his own safeguarded world. He had seen a resemblance now and then that turned him cold, but when all was said and done there was no reason, no unforgivable reason, for him to exile himself from life. And when he was in this state of mind, Cameron was like vinegar on a raw wound to him. Cameron's joyousness, born of indifference, passed for assurance based, as Raymond believed, on his asinine conceit. "He takes Nancy for granted," Raymond grumbled, "and he need not be too sure--why, only last night----" Then Raymond recalled the look in Nancy's eyes.