IV

THE Halidons floated off to Europe for the summer.  In due course their return was announced in the social chronicle, and walking up Fifth Avenue one afternoon I saw the back of the Brereton house sheathed in scaffolding, and realized that they were adding a wing.

I did not look up Halidon, nor did I hear from him till the middle of the winter.  Once or twice, meanwhile, I had seen him in the back of his wife’s opera box; but Mrs. Halidon had grown so resplendent that she reduced her handsome husband to a supernumerary.  In January the papers began to talk of the Halidon ball; and in due course I received a card for it.  I was not a frequenter of balls, and had no intention of going to this one; but when the day came some obscure impulse moved me to set aside my rule, and toward midnight I presented myself at Ned’s illuminated portals.

I shall never forget his look when I accosted him on the threshold of the big new ballroom.  With celibate egoism I had rather fancied he would be gratified by my departure from custom; but one glance showed me my mistake.  He smiled warmly, indeed, and threw into his hand-clasp an artificial energy of welcome—­“You of all people—­my dear fellow!  Have you seen Daisy?”—­but the look behind the smile made me feel cold in the crowded room.

Nor was Mrs. Halidon’s greeting calculated to restore my circulation.  “Have you come to spy on us?” her frosty smile seemed to say; and I crept home early, wondering if she had not found me out.

It was the following week that Halidon turned up one day in my office.  He looked pale and thinner, and for the first time I noticed a dash of gray in his hair.  I was startled at the change in him, but I reflected that it was nearly a year since we had looked at each other by daylight, and that my shaving-glass had doubtless a similar tale to tell.

He fidgeted about the office, told me a funny story about his little boy, and then dropped into a chair.

“Look here,” he said, “I want to go into business.”

“Business?” I stared.

“Well, why not?  I suppose men have gone to work, even at my age, and not made a complete failure of it.  The fact is, I want to make some money.”  He paused, and added:  “I’ve heard of an opportunity to pick up for next to nothing a site for the Academy, and if I could lay my hands on a little cash—­”

“Do you want to speculate?” I interposed.

“Heaven forbid!  But don’t you see that, if I had a fixed job—­so much a quarter—­I could borrow the money and pay it off gradually?”

I meditated upon this astounding proposition.  “Do you really think it’s wise to buy a site before—­”

“Before what?”

“Well—­seeing ahead a little?”

His face fell for a moment, but he rejoined cheerfully:  “It’s an exceptional chance, and after all, I shall see ahead if I can get regular work.  I can put by a little every month, and by and bye, when our living expenses diminish, my wife means to come forward—­her idea would be to give the building—­”