"But you had deserted me—I was furious." The conversation continued ten minutes on these purely conventional lines and ended with a promise to drop in that afternoon for tea. He had hardly ended when Mrs. Fontaine called up with an invitation to her box, for Mme. Fornez’s début in Carmen the following week. Then he called up Miss Rivers, not because he particularly wished to talk with her, for he had determined on her decapitation, so to speak, but in order to appease somewhat the desire he had to telephone some one else. In conversing over the telephone, he felt a revival of interest and promised to try to drop in for a call that afternoon. He rose, looking down at the telephone in a dissatisfied way, and, turning his back, went in search of his hat. "She’ll expect me to telephone, of course," he thought; "besides, what excuse could I give? I’m not going to play into her game—not by a long shot. I know the kind—entirely too much brain-work to suit me. Oh, yes, she’d like to annex me—because I’ve been attentive to Emma Fornez—sure; but when it comes down to business. Mr. Charles Lorraine has a hundred thousand a year and I have thirty. She knows that." He laughed disdainfully and repeated, "You bet she knows that—well, so do I." He returned to the sitting-room and selected a cane, glancing out of the corner of his eye at the accursed telephone. "I won’t," he said, taking three steps toward it and then turning abruptly away. At the moment when he stood wavering, it began to ring. He went to it hastily. Miss Charters was calling him... "How lucky!" he said purposely. "I was just going out. I heard you from the hall." "You know, I never realized until this morning what I had done," said the voice at the other end. "I was so upset by Mr. Lorraine’s condition that I forgot you were there with Madame Fornez." "Clever girl," he said to himself, smiling. Then aloud: "Oh, I explained matters." "I was afraid I’d got you into trouble." "No, indeed. Madame Fornez is a good sort; she understood at once." "I’m so glad. You’ve ’phoned her already then?" "Yes." He remembered McKenna’s suggestion, but he did not wish to make the demand direct. "Something of a smash in Wall Street to-day," he said carelessly. "You weren’t caught, were you?" she said, with a note of quick sympathy which he admired. "No; I don’t speculate." "I was afraid you might have." "By Jove," he said, "I hope you didn’t lose anything." "No, I don’t think so," she said doubtfully. "I had some money invested, but I suppose if I hold on that’ll come up again." "Not on margins?" "No, indeed." "Who’s your broker?" "Mr. Garraboy." "Who?" "Mr. Garraboy." The news produced on him a strangely ominous effect. He forgot all the parleying and the tactical planning of his campaign, overshadowed by a sudden sense of sympathy. "I want to talk to you about that," he said anxiously. "Have you much in his hands?" "Much for me—about twenty thousand."