"It is none of my affair, perhaps--more than a friend--but do you think it wise for Stephanie to have Porshinger dangling around her so much? I've been away for two weeks, and Devereux says that he has become exceedingly attentive recently--so much so, indeed, as to occasion comment of not the kindest sort.--I don't want to say anything to her on the matter, but _you_ can--so, if you consider it expedient, you might mention it to her." "Why don't you mention it yourself, Montague? You have the most influence with Stephanie, surely!" "I don't think so," he replied, with a bit of a smile. "A quarrel?" she asked. He nodded. "Just before I went to Boston.--It's nothing serious, but I'm not exactly in a position to influence her until we have made it up." "Then why don't you make it up?" Gladys demanded. "You would think you two were children." "We _are_ children. I'm ready to make it up any time, but I don't want to start it by finding fault with her recent conduct. It would hardly be conducive to the makeup, do you think?" "The idea of Stephanie and you having a misunderstanding!" she exclaimed. "You ought to be sent back to the nursery--you overgrown infants." "Granted again," he agreed. "Whose fault was it?" "Both, I imagine, to be accurate." "Do you mind telling me what it was about?" "No--I don't mind telling _you_, Gladys. It was about Porshinger. I cautioned Stephanie about letting him show her attention. She--well, one thing led to another and--we quarrelled. I had to leave town the following morning. I wrote to her from Boston; I was there a week, and she never replied to the letter." "Maybe she didn't get it." "Not likely; moreover, I passed her on Fifth Avenue last week--and she never saw me." "_Did_ she see you?" Gladys asked. "Certainly she saw me; she looked straight at me." "And _you_ didn't speak?" "Of course I didn't speak." "Wasn't it just as much in your place to speak as in hers?" Gladys inflected. "I thought not. My letter put it up to her." "If she had received it. If not?" "I'm assuming that she received it. Not many letters go astray." "Why didn't you ask her if she had received it?" "Would you?" he laughed. "No--I think I wouldn't--but I'm a woman, you're a _man_." "And my action was womanish, not mannish, you imply!" She acquiesced with a nod and a smile. "You might expect it from Stephanie--and excuse it; but I've not much patience with you, Montague Pendleton!" "I see you haven't!" Pendleton grinned. "Well, I'm properly humble and contrite." "According to your idea of the proper humbleness and contrition, I suppose," Gladys retorted. "Which, however, is beside the way," he suggested. "Let us get back on the original road. I'll ask Stephanie if she received my letter, if you'll do what you can to make her see reason in the Porshinger matter. The latter is too sore a subject for me to broach, until you have had your say."