If Kenyon had been a more generous man--if in his nature there had been one small grain of unselfishness--he would have gone at that very moment, then and there, to the door of the Doctor's laboratory--into that wonderful room--sat down opposite the man who spent his life in it with such noble concentration and begged him to desert his microbes and turn his attention to his sons. As it was he neglected to take an opportunity which would have enabled the recording angel to make one very good entry on the blank credit side of his account, and concentrated upon a way in which he could use Peter and Graham for his own material ends. He was immediately faced therefore with two "jobs," as he called them,--one to queer Peter's engagement with Betty, in order that he might achieve his friend's whole attention, the other to lift Graham out of his ghastly entanglement, for the same purpose. Bringing himself up to that point and relying upon his ingenuity with complete confidence, Kenyon mixed himself another high-ball and listened with a certain amount of eagerness for Belle's light step. He hadn't long to wait. He had just gone into the dimly lighted hall with the intention of getting some air on the front doorstep, when the door opened and Belle let herself in. "You keep nice hours," he said. Belle had been dancing. Her cheeks were glowing and her eyes bright. She had never looked so all-conqueringly youthful or so imbued with the joy of life. She came across to him like a young goddess of the forest, with the wild beauty and that suggestion of unrestraint which always made Kenyon's blood run quickly. "Have you waited for me?" she asked. "How perfectly adorable of you." "What have you been doing?" "Oh, the usual things--dinner, theatre, dancing." Kenyon went nearer and put his hands on her arms, hotly. "Curse those men!" he said. "What men?" "The men who've been holding you to-night. Why have I come over? Can't you scratch these engagements and wait for me? I'm not going to share you with every Tom, Dick and Harry in this place." A feeling of triumph came to Belle--a new feeling--because hitherto this man's attitude had been that of master. "You're jealous!" she cried. Kenyon turned away sharply. For once he was not playing with this girl for the sport of the thing, just to see what she would say and do in order to pass away the time. The whole evening had tended to upset his calculations and plans. He had found himself thrown suddenly into a position of responsibility,--a state that he avoided with rare and consummate agility. And now came Belle, radiant and high-spirited, from an evening spent with other men,--more beautiful and desirable than he had ever seen her look. Belle turned him back. "You _are_ jealous, you _are_." "Oh, good Lord, no," said Kenyon, with his most bored drawl. "Why should I be? After all it isn't for me to care what you do, is it? It's a large world and there's plenty of room for both of us--what?"