"Take the four yonder playing Auction," Pendleton continued, when they had settled into a retired corner. "They are as lovely young matrons as you will meet anywhere--far above the average indeed--and they are inseparable; yet I myself have heard every one of them put the knife into the other three, and then give it a twist besides." "And from it you argue----" "From it and innumerable other instances I argue that, as among themselves, women have no conception of friendship--as men regard it. Men are more charitable;--though it is the charity of indifference--and it is without distinction as to sex. So long as he himself is not affected he cares nothing--when he is affected the woman always receives consideration." "Exactly! the woman receives consideration from the man--and the man receives consideration from the woman. The man is in advance of her only in his indifference, and that is due mainly to temperament, and to his preoccupation in other things--he hasn't the time. The woman _has_ the time." "And if she hasn't time she finds it. I tell you a woman has neither charity nor justice toward a woman," Pendleton reiterated. "You are putting it too broadly," said Burgoyne. "As a general proposition it can't be put too broadly." "What were you doing with yourself while I was away?" Burgoyne demanded. "Observing life around me!" "Through blue glasses and with a misanthrope's eyes." "I was not aware of it." "Of course you were not! No one ever is---- It requires a friend to make himself popular by telling you." "What shall I tell _you_?" laughed Pendleton. "Anything that's disagreeable--so long as it is the truth." A rather large woman came down the piazza, nodding this way and that. She was beautifully gowned, in the very best taste and in the style that was calculated to soften her embonpoint into a gentle plumpness. A flush that was charmingly natural glowed on cheek and lip, her eyes were dark and delicately pencilled, her hands were bare of gloves and sparkled with rings. As she passed the corner where Pendleton and Burgoyne were sitting, she bowed effusively, and when they both arose and returned it she suddenly veered across. "I'm so glad to see you!" she radiated. Pendleton presented his friend. "Welcome home, Mr. Burgoyne, if I may," she greeted. "Mr. Pendleton, won't you and Mr. Burgoyne dine with us here this evening?--just a little informal party--with some Auction later?" Pendleton's glance shot questioningly at Burgoyne and got an answer. "Thank you very much, Mrs. Emerson," said he. "I shall be delighted." "It will give me much pleasure, you are very kind," Burgoyne assured her. "Just as you are, no dressing you know--at seven-thirty on the piazza." And with a smile and an intimate little nod she went on. "Will you please tell me why you signalled me to accept?" Pendleton inquired. "Because I wanted you to accept." "So I gathered--but why? why?" "I want to see how the old dame does it--and whom she has."