“Tonight,” she hesitated. “Tonight has really made a good many things--clear to me. Things that were moving around in my mind, though I didn't know quite what to call them. For one thing, it has made me--realize,” her eyes darkened, “that my time for really being--a woman--not in the copybook sense--is diminishing. Getting short. Oh, you and Mr. Billett will have to reconcile your knowledge of Sargent's and my situation with whatever moral ideas you may happen to have on fathers-in-law and friends' fathers for some time yet--I'm sure I don't know how you're going to do it, especially Mr. Billett, and I can't honestly say that I particularly care. But that will not be--permanent, I imagine. You understand?” She put her hand on the door-knob to imply that the audience was over. “I shall miss Louise, though,” she said, frankly. “Louise will miss you.” Oliver saw no need for being politic now. He added hesitatingly, “After all--” “Oh, no. No,” she said lightly but very firmly. “I couldn't very well, now, could I?” and Oliver, in spite of all the broadmindedness upon which he prided himself, was left rather dumb. “Oh, it won't be--difficult,” she added. “We can keep up--in the office--yes?” “Yes,” said Oliver hastily. He might be signing a compact with all the powers of darkness, but even so. “For the rest, I am--used to things like that,” she added, and once again her face grew suddenly bright with pain. Then she recovered herself. “Well--our next merry meeting and so forth,” she said airily. “Because when it happens, if it does, I may be so stodgily respectable you'll be very glad to ask me to dinner, you know. Or I may be--completely disreputable--one never knows. But in any case,” and she gave her hand. “Mr. Billett must be freezing to death in that car,” she murmured. “Good-by, Oliver, and my best if wholly unrespectable good wishes.” “Thanks and--good luck to you.” She turned on him swiftly. “Oh, no. All the happiness in the world and _no_ luck---that's better, isn't it? _Good_-by.” “Good-by.” And then Oliver was out in the hall, pressing the button that would summon a sleepy, disgruntled elevator-boy to take him down to Ted and the car. He decided as he waited that few conversations he had ever had made him feel quite so inescapably, irritatingly young; that he saw to the last inch of exactitude just why Mr. Piper completely and Ted very nearly had fallen in love with Mrs. Severance; that she was one of the most remarkable individuals he had ever met; and that he hoped from the bottom of his heart he never, never saw her again. XLIV Ted and he had little conversation going back in the car. The most important part of it occurred when they had left New York behind and were rushing along cool moon-strewn roads to Southampton. Then-- “Thanks,” said Ted suddenly and fervently and did not seem to be able to say anything more.