superior; the women had been more charming, the men erect, clothed in proper garb and pride.  Where, now, could be seen such an audience as Dr. Damrosch had gathered for his first season of German opera?  Not, certainly, at the performance he had heard with Mariana two, no—­three, winters ago.  A vulgarized performance in the spirit of a boulevard cafe.  The whole present air, he told himself, was wrong.

He looked at his watch, and was surprised to see that it was past ten.  Not a sound came from the porch; and he determined to go outside, exercise the discretion which Mariana had cast to the winds.  However, he didn’t stir; he could not summon the energy necessary for the combating of their impetuous youth.  He unfolded a paper, but it drooped on his knees, slid, finally, to the floor.  Then Mariana appeared, walked swiftly, without a word, through the room, and vanished upstairs.  Not even a civil period at the end of the evening.  After another, long wait James Polder entered.  The latter stood uneasily by the table, with a furrowed brow, a ridiculous, twitching mouth.

Polder went out into the dining room; where, through the doorway, Howat Penny could see him hovering over the silver basket of oranges, placed upon the sideboard.  “If you don’t mind,” he called back, and there were a rattle of knives, a thin ring of glass.  The light was dim beyond, and he stood in the doorway with the brandy decanter and orange juice.  He drained the mixture and leaned, absorbed, against the woodwork.  “This is a hell of a world!” he exclaimed suddenly.  “Everything worth having is fenced off.  A woman won’t understand.  Does any one suppose that I don’t want Mariana!  It’s the responsibility.  She’s right—­I am afraid of it.  And she laughed at me.  Nothing cowardly in her,” his voice deepened.

“It is ignorance,” Howat stated.

“I thought so, for a minute; you are wrong.  She’s had more experience than we’d get in a thousand years.  The life she knows would fix that.  She talked me into a tangled foolishness in five minutes; made me look like a whiskered hypocrite.  Nothing I said sounded real, and yet I must be right.  Suppose Harriet should turn nasty, suppose—­oh, a thousand things.”

“It isn’t arguable,” Howat Penny agreed.

This afforded the other no consolation.  “What is she to do?” he demanded.  “Mariana won’t settle quietly against a wall.  She told you that.  She’s full of—­of a sort of energy that must be at something.  Mariana hasn’t the anchor of most women—­respectability.”

“Am I to gather that that is no longer considered admirable?” the elder inquired.  “If you gather anything you are lucky,” Polder replied gloomily.  “I’m not sure about my own name.  Good-night,” he disappeared abruptly.