And that which he might have taken, and which her training had designed her both to attract and exact, Bedient did not want.  All her sighs, soft tones, suddennesses and confidences fell wide; and yet, to Mrs. Wordling, he was too challenging and mysterious for her to be bored an instant.  Their talk throughout was trifling and ineffectual, as it had begun.  Mrs. Wordling was not Bedient’s type.  No woman could have dethroned Beth Truba this hour.  Bedient was not sorry (nothing he had said seemed to animate) when Mrs. Wordling arose, and led the way to the gate... which had been locked meanwhile.

Mrs. Wordling was inclined to cry a little.  “One couldn’t possibly climb the fence!” she moaned.

“They have keys at the Club, haven’t they?” Bedient asked.

“Yes.  All the houses and establishments on the park front have keys.  It’s private—­that far....  I should have known it would be locked after midnight.  Our talk was so interesting!...  Oh, one will die of exposure, and the whole Club will seethe.”

Bedient patted her shoulder cheerfully, and led the way along the fence through the thick greenery, until they were opposite the Club entrance.  He had not known the park was ever locked.  He saw disturbance ahead—­bright disturbance—­but steadily refused to grant it importance.  He was sorry for Mrs. Wordling.

“Let the Club seethe, if it starts so readily,” he observed.

The remark astonished his companion, who had concluded he was either bashful to the depths, or some other woman’s property, probably Beth Truba’s.

“But you men have nothing to lose!” she exclaimed.

“I ask you to pardon me,” Bedient said quickly.  “I had not thought of it in that way.”

They were watching the Club entrance.  One o’clock struck over the city.  Mrs. Wordling had become cold, and needed his coat, though she had to be forced to submit to its protection.  At last, a gentleman entered the Club, and Bedient called to the page who appeared in the doorway.  The boy stepped out into the street, when called a second time.  Bedient made known his trouble.  The keys were brought and richly paid for, though Bedient did not negotiate.  The night-man smiled pleasantly, and cheered them, with the word that this had happened before, on nights less fine.

* * * * *

David Cairns had stepped into a telephone-booth in the main-hall of the Smilax Club the following afternoon, to announce his presence in the building to Vina Nettleton.  Waiting for the exchange-operator to connect, he heard two pages talking about Bedient and Mrs. Wordling.  These were bright street-boys, very clever in their uniforms, and courteous, but street-boys nevertheless; and they had not noted the man in the booth.  A clouded, noisome thing, David Cairns heard.  Doubtless it had passed through several grades of back-stair intelligence before it became a morsel for Cairns’ particular informers.  Having heard enough to understand, he kicked the door shut, and Vina found him distraught that day....