“I know I shouldn’t bother you with all this.”  Selwyn’s voice recalled me and the face in the fire vanished.  “But there is no one else I can talk to.  I should as soon go to a patient in a nerve sanitarium as to Mildred.  As a sister Mildred is not a success.  She’d first have hysterics and tell me I was brutal to poor Harrie, and then declare that to marry a million dollars was the chance of a lifetime for him.  One of the ten thousand things I can’t understand about women is their defense of men, their acceptance of his—­shortcomings, and their disregard of the woman who must pay the price of the latter.  Mildred would probably not give Miss Swink a thought.”

“Harrie’s sister and his mamma-in-law-to-be will doubtless find each other congenial.  They believe in sweet ignorance and blind acceptance for their sex.  But what do you want me to do, Selwyn?  What is it I can do?”

“I don’t know.”  Hand on the back of the sofa, he looked down at me.  “When things go wrong I always come to you.  When they go right you are not nice to me.  To-day I had a letter from Harrie.  He’s coming back next week.  His fiancee and her mother are coming with him.  The engagement is not to be announced just yet, however, and he asks me to keep it on the quiet.”

“And you’ve told me.”

“Told you!” Selwyn’s voice was querulous.  “Don’t I tell you everything?  Mrs. Swink has friends here, strivers like herself—­the only kind of people you won’t have anything to do with.  But I’m going to ask you to call.  Perhaps you’ll be able—­”

“She won’t want to know me.  I’ll be no use to her.  I can’t help her in any way, and people like that are too keen to waste time on people like me.  I don’t give parties.”

“But Kitty does.  I don’t know how you’ll go about it, but you’ll find a way to—­to make the girl understand she mustn’t marry Harrie, or certainly not for some time.  I feel sorry for the child, but—­”

“And the other girl—­the little cashier-girl?  What about her?”

For a moment Selwyn did not seem to understand.  “Oh, that girl!  I don’t think there’ll be any trouble from her.  She doesn’t seem that sort.  Forget her.  You can’t do anything.  I’ve tried and failed.”

“I may fail, but I haven’t tried.  You dispose of her as if she didn’t count.”

“What can I do?  I shouldn’t have mentioned her.”  Selwyn’s forehead ridged frowningly, and, taking out his watch, he looked at it, took up his hat and coat, and held out his hand.

“Thank you for letting me talk to you.  And don’t worry about the other girl.  You can’t do anything.”

“Perhaps I can’t, but you said just now one of the many things you couldn’t understand in women was their disregard of other women.  That Mildred would probably give the girl no thought.  The rich girl, you meant.”

“Well—­” Selwyn waited.  “I did say it, but I don’t see what you’re getting at.”