To-day Elaine felt that, without having actually quarrelled, she and Comus had drifted a little bit out of sympathy with one another.  The fault she knew was scarcely hers, in fact from the most good-natured point of view it could hardly be denied that it was almost entirely his.  The incident of the silver dish had lacked even the attraction of novelty; it had been one of a series, all bearing a strong connecting likeness.  There had been small unrepaid loans which Elaine would not have grudged in themselves, though the application for them brought a certain qualm of distaste; with the perversity which seemed inseparable from his doings, Comus had always flung away a portion of his borrowings in some ostentatious piece of glaring and utterly profitless extravagance, which outraged all the canons of her upbringing without bringing him an atom of understandable satisfaction.  Under these repeated discouragements it was not surprising that some small part of her affection should have slipped away, but she had come to the Park that morning with an unconfessed expectation of being gently wooed back to the mood of gracious forgetfulness that she was only too eager to assume.  It was almost worth while being angry with Comus for the sake of experiencing the pleasure of being coaxed into friendliness again with the charm which he knew so well how to exert.  It was delicious here under the trees on this perfect June morning, and Elaine had the blessed assurance that most of the women within range were envying her the companionship of the handsome merry-hearted youth who sat by her side.  With special complacence she contemplated her cousin Suzette, who was self-consciously but not very elatedly basking in the attentions of her fiance, an earnest-looking young man who was superintendent of a People’s something-or-other on the south side of the river, and whose clothes Comus had described as having been made in Southwark rather than in anger.

Most of the pleasures in life must be paid for, and the chair-ticket vendor in due time made his appearance in quest of pennies.

Comus paid him from out of a varied assortment of coins and then balanced the remainder in the palm of his hand.  Elaine felt a sudden foreknowledge of something disagreeable about to happen and a red spot deepened in her cheeks.

“Four shillings and fivepence and a half-penny,” said Comus, reflectively.  “It’s a ridiculous sum to last me for the next three days, and I owe a card debt of over two pounds.”

“Yes?” commented Elaine dryly and with an apparent lack of interest in his exchequer statement.  Surely, she was thinking hurriedly to herself, he could not be foolish enough to broach the matter of another loan.

“The card debt is rather a nuisance,” pursued Comus, with fatalistic persistency.

“You won seven pounds last week, didn’t you?” asked Elaine; “don’t you put by any of your winnings to balance losses?”