“What an idea!  You give me everything I want before I know what it is.”

“And before I know it either,” he responded, with a grim smile.  “Well, what is the news today?”

“Just the same old round.  The Foundlings’ Board, for one thing.”

“Are you interested in foundlings?”

“Not much,” said Carmen, frankly.  “I’m interested in those that find them.  I told you how hateful that Mrs. Schuyler Blunt is.”

“Why don’t you cut her?  Why don’t you make it uncomfortable for her?”

“I can’t find out,” she said, with a laugh, dropping into the language of the Street, “anything she is short in, or I would.”

“And you want me to get a twist on old Blunt?” and Henderson roared with laughter at the idea.

“No, indeed.  Dear, you are just a goose, socially.  It is nothing to you, but you don’t understand what we women have to go through.  You don’t know how hard it is—­that woman!”

“What has she done?”

“Nothing.  That’s just it.  What do you say in the Street—­freeze?  Well, she is trying to freeze me out.”

Henderson laughed again.  “Oh, I’ll back you against the field.”

“I don’t want to be backed,” said Carmen; “I want some sympathy.”

“Well, what is your idea?”

“I was going to tell you.  Mr. Delancy dropped in this afternoon for a cup of tea—­”

“Oh!”

“Yes, and he knows Mrs. Schuyler Blunt well; they are old friends, and he is going to arrange it.”

“Arrange what?”

“Why, smooth everything out, don’t you know.  But, Rodney, I do want you to do something for me; not for me exactly, but about this.  Won’t you look out for Mr. Delancy in this deal?”

“Seems to me you are a good deal interested in Jack Delancy,” said Henderson, in a sneering tone.  The remark was a mistake, for it gave Carmen the advantage, and he did not believe it was just.  He knew that Carmen was as passionless as a diamond, whatever even she might pretend for a purpose.

“Aren’t you ashamed!” she cried, with indignation, and her eyes flared for an instant and then filled with tears.  “And I try so hard.”

“But I can’t look out for all the lame ducks.”

“He isn’t a duck,” said Carmen, using her handkerchief; “I’d hate him for a duck.  It’s just to help me, when you know, when you know—­and it is so hard,” and the tears came again.

Did Henderson believe?  After all, what did it matter?  Perhaps, after all, the woman had a right to her game, as he had to his.

“Oh, well,” he said, “don’t take on about it.  I’ll fix it.  I’ll make a memorandum this minute.  Only don’t you bother me in the future with too many private kites.”

Carmen dried her eyes.  She did not look triumphant; she just looked sweet and grateful, like a person who had been helped.  She went over and kissed her lord on the forehead, and sat on the arm of his chair, not too long, and then patted him on the shoulder, and said he was a good fellow, and she was a little bother, and so went away like a dutiful little wife.