“Did you think to bring over your pajamas?” John asked irrelevantly.

Warrington smiled in spite of himself.

“I forgot all about them,” he admitted.

“Thought you would, so I brought over two sets.  We’re about the same size.  Pshaw! that was an easy one, too.”

Warrington missed his shot; He heard voices again.

“And I want you to help me.”  It was Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene again.  “We shall reorganize the Woman’s Auxiliary Republican Club, and we shall need you.  It is principally for that that I came over.”

“I take very little interest in anything outside my home,” replied Mrs. Bennington.

“Did you get that?” whispered John, as he drew back for a carom.

“But this is very important for the city’s welfare,” pursued Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene.

“I doubt it.  So long as we do not vote—­”

“That’s just it.  We can’t vote, but we can get together and control the male vote in the family.  That’s something.”

John grinned at Warrington, who replied with a shrug.

“And they all call me the meddler!” he said.

“What’s the matter with your staying on here a few days, Dick?”

“I should be nothing but a bother to you.”

“Rot!  You can’t stay alone over there.”

“I’ll have to; I can’t leave those poor old souls alone.  They are broken-hearted.  I sent her two hundred every month regularly, just for pin-money; and what do you think she did with it?  Hoarded it up and willed something like two thousand to Mary and her husband.  I’m all in, Dick.  But go on; I’ll finish the game.”

“All right.  But whenever you feel lonesome, come here or over to my house.  There’ll always be a spare room for you in either house.”

“It’s mighty kind of you, John.  My shot?” Warrington ran four and missed.

Voices again.

“I never believe what I hear, and only half of what I see.”  That was Mrs. Jack speaking.

Murmurs.  The billiard-balls clicked sharply as John played for position.

“The stage doesn’t appeal to you any more, then?” Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene.

“Not in the least.  It never did appeal to me.  I am so far away from it now that I am losing the desire to witness plays.”

“And for whom will Mr. Warrington write his plays now?”

“The vacancy I made has long ago been filled.  I was but one in a thousand to interpret his characters.  There is always a lack of plays, but never of actors.”

“Excuse me for a moment.”  It was Patty this time.

“Certainly, my dear.”

Warrington heard nothing more for several minutes.

“Is it true what I hear about Patty and that rich young Mr. Whiteland, of New York?”

“What is it that you have heard?”

“Why, that their engagement is about to be announced.”

Warrington stood perfectly still.  Whiteland had been a guest at the Adirondack bungalow earlier in the summer.  He waited for the answer, and it seemed to him that it would never come.