Craig lapsed into silence, stared moodily out of the window.  The idea of his thinking of marrying a girl of Grant’s class!  What a ridiculous, loutish figure he would cut in her eyes!  Why, not only did he not have the articles necessary to a gentleman’s wardrobe, he did not even know the names of them, nor their uses!  It was all very well to pretend that these matters were petty.  In a sense they were.  But that sort of trifles played a most important part in life as it was led by Margaret Severence.  She’d not think them trifles.  She was probably assuming that, while he was not quite up to the fashionable standard, still he had a gentleman’s equipment of knowledge and of toilet articles.  “She’d think me no better than a savage—­and, damn it!  I’m not much above the savage state, as far as this side of life is concerned.”

Grant interrupted his mournful musings with:  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll have my bath.”

And, Walter following, he went in at a door to the right, through which Craig had a glimpse of marble walls and floor, of various articles of more than Roman luxury.  The moments dragged away until half an hour had passed.

“What the devil!” Josh called out.  “What are you doing all this time?”

“Massage,” responded Grant.  “You can come in.”

Craig entered the marble chamber, seated himself on a corner of the warmed marble couch on which Grant lay luxuriating in Walter’s powerful massage.  “Do you go through this thing often?” demanded he.

“Every morning—­except when I’m roughing it.  You ought to take massage, Josh.  It’s great for the skin.”

Craig saw that it was.  His own skin, aside from his hands and face, was fairly smooth and white; but it was like sandpaper, he thought, beside this firm, rosy covering of the elegant Arkwright’s elegant body.  “Get through here and send Walter away,” he said harshly.  “I want to talk to you.  If you don’t I’ll burst out before him.  I can’t hold in any longer.”

“Very well.  That’ll do, Walter,” acquiesced Grant.  “And please go and bring us some breakfast.  I’ll finish dressing afterward.”

As soon as the door closed on the valet, Craig said, “Grant, I’ve got myself into a frightful mess.  I want you to help me out of it.”

Grant’s eyes shifted.  He put on his white silk pajamas, thrust his feet into slippers, tossed the silk-lined linen robe about his broad, too square shoulders, and led the way into the other room.  Then he said:  “Do you mean Margaret Severence?”

“That’s it!” exclaimed Craig, pacing the floor.  “I’ve gone and got myself engaged—­”

“One minute,” interrupted Arkwright in a voice so strange that Joshua paused and stared at him.  “I can’t talk to you about that.”

“Why not?”

“For many reasons.  The chief one—­Fact is, Josh, I’ve acted like a howling skunk about you with her.  I ran you down to her; tried to get her myself.”