“Martha,” he began earnestly—­

“Miss Grimes!” she interrupted firmly.  “Don’t let there be any mistake about that.  I hate familiarity.”

“Miss Grimes, then,” he went on.  “You talk about my friends.  Quite right.  I should think I have been introduced to nearly a thousand people since the night my play was produced.  I have dined at a score of houses and many scores of restaurants.  The people are pleasant enough, too, but all the time it’s Merton Ware the dramatist they are patting on the back.  They don’t know anything about Merton Ware the man.  Perhaps there are some of them would be glad to, but you see it’s too soon, and they seem to live too quickly here to make friends.  I am almost as lonely as I was, so far as regards ordinary companionship.  Last night I felt the first little glow of real friendliness—­just the men down at the club.”

“You’ve put all your eggs into one basket, that’s what you’ve done,” she declared.

“That’s true enough,” he groaned.

“And like all men—­selfish brutes!” she proceeded deliberately—­“you expect everything.  Fancy expecting everything from a woman like Miss Dalstan!  Why, you aren’t worthy of it, you know.”

“Perhaps not,” he admitted, “but you see, Miss Grimes, there is something in life which seems to have passed you by up till now.”

“Has it indeed!” she objected.  “You think I’ve never had a young man, eh?  Perhaps you’re right.  Haven’t found much time for that sort of rubbish.  Anyway, this is where I hop on a trolley car.”

“Wait a moment,” he begged.  “Don’t leave me yet.  You’ve nothing to do, have you?”

“Nothing particular,” she confessed, “except go home and cook my dinner.”

“Look here,” he went on eagerly, “I feel like work.  I’ve got the second act of my new play in my mind.  Come round with me and let me try dictating it.  I’ll give you something to eat in my rooms.  It’s for the theatre, mind.  I never tried dictating.  I believe I could do it to you.”

“In your rooms,” she repeated, a little doubtfully.

“They won’t talk scandal about us, Miss Grimes,” he assured her.  “To tell you the truth, I want to be near the telephone.”

“In case she rings you up, eh?”

“That’s so.  I said something I ought not to have done.  I ought to have waited for her, but it was something that had been tearing at me ever since last night, and I couldn’t bear it.”

“Some blunderers, you men,” Miss Grimes sighed.  “Well, I’m with you.”

He led her almost apologetically to the lift of the handsome building in which his new rooms were situated.  They were very pleasant bachelor rooms, with black oak walls and green hangings, prints upon the wall, a serviceable writing-table, and a deep green carpet.  She looked around her and at the servant who had come forward at their entrance, with a little sniff.

“Shall you be changing to-night, sir?” he asked.