Dinner time found the boy quiet and preoccupied. If he hadn't been Jerry I should have said he was sullen. That he was not himself was certain. It was not until he had lighted his cigarette after dinner that he was sure enough of himself to speak.

"What made you talk of Una to Marcia, Roger?" he asked quietly.

"I didn't," I said coolly. "_You_ did, Jerry. And if I had, I can't see what it matters."

"It does a little, I think. You see, Marcia knows who she is. Una gave a false name. She wouldn't care to have people know she had come in here alone."

This was a reason, but of course not the real one. It wasn't like Jerry to mask his purposes in this fashion. I laughed at him.

"If you'll remember, Jerry, I mentioned no names."

"But why mention the incident at all?"

"Because to tell the truth," I said frankly, "I thought Miss Marcia Van Wyck entirely too self-satisfied."

He opened his eyes wide and stared at me. "Oh!" he said.

And then after the pause:

"You don't like Marcia?"

"No," I replied flatly, "I don't."

He paced the length of the room, while I sat by a lamp and ostentatiously opened the evening paper.

"I hope you realize," he said presently, with a dignity that would have been ridiculous if it hadn't been pathetic, "that Miss Van Wyck is a very good friend of mine."

"Is she?" I asked quietly.

"Yes--I'm very fond of her."

"Are you?" still quietly.

"Yes." He walked the floor jerkily, made a false start or so and then brought up before me with an air of decision. "I--I'm sorry you don't like her, Roger. I--I should be truly grieved if I--I thought you meant it. For I intend some day to ask her to be my--my--wife."

It was as bad as that? I dropped pretense and the newspaper, folding my arms and regarding him steadily.

"Isn't this decision--er--rather sudden?" I asked evenly.

"I've loved her from the first moment I saw her," he exclaimed. "She is everything, everything that a woman should be. Amiable, charitable, beautiful, talented, intellectual." He paused and threw out his arms with an appealing gesture. "I can't understand why you don't see it, Roger, why you can't see her as I see her."

I was beginning to realize that the situation was one to be handled with discretion. He was in a frame of mind where active opposition would only add fuel to his flame.

"I'm sorry that I've grown to be so critical, Jerry. You forget that I've never much cared for the s.e.x."

It seemed that this was just the reply to restore him to partial sanity, for his face broke in a smile.

"I forgot, old Dry-as-dust. You don't like 'em--don't like any of 'em.

That's different. But you _will_ like Marcia. You _shall_. Why, Roger, she's an angel. You couldn't help liking her."

I smiled feebly. My acquaintance with decadent angels had been limited. I turned the subject adroitly.

"Have you discovered who Una is?" I asked.

"No. Marcia wouldn't tell me. She only laughed at me, but I really wanted to know. She _was_ a nice girl, Roger, and I'd hate to have her shown in a false light. Not that Marcia would do that, of course, but girls are queer. I think she really resented our acquaintance. I can't imagine why."

"Nor I," I said shortly. "She doesn't _own_ you, does she?"

He looked up at me with a blank expression.

"No, I suppose not," he said slowly.

I followed up my advantage swiftly.

"It's rather curious, Jerry, this attraction Miss Van Wyck has for you. A moment ago you were chivalrous enough in your hope that Una's ident.i.ty would not be discovered. Was this chivalry genuine? Were you sorry on Una's account or on your own? I really want to know. You liked Una, Jerry. Didn't you?"

"Yes, but--"

"She seemed a very interesting, a fine, even a n.o.ble creature. The thought of a girl doing the sort of things she was doing made you reproach yourself for your idleness--your cowardice, I think you called it. Now what I'd like to discover is whether you've quite forgotten the impression she made--the ideal she left in your mind?"

"Of course not. My ideals are still the same. I've tried to tell you that I'm going to put them into practice," he muttered.

"You've forgotten the impression made by Una herself; what reason have you for believing that you won't forget the ideals also?"

"There's no danger of that. She merely opened my eyes. Anyone else could have done the same thing."

"Ah! Has Miss Van Wyck done so?"

"Yes. She's very charitable. But she doesn't make a business of it like Una. She has so many interests and then--" He paused. I waited.

"Roger," he went on in a moment, "I thought Una wonderful. I still do.

But Marcia's different. Una was a chance visitor. Marcia is a friend--an old friend. She's like no other woman in the world. You will understand her better some day."

"Perhaps," I said thoughtfully. After that Jerry would say no more.

Perhaps he thought he had already said too much, for presently he took himself off to bed. At the foot of the stairs he paused.

"By the way, Roger, we'll be five instead of four for dinner tomorrow."

"Who now?"

"A friend of Marcia's, Channing Lloyd, a chap from town. He came up today."

That admission cost Jerry something, and it explained many things, for I had heard of Channing Lloyd.

"Ah, very well," I said carelessly and shook out my paper.

"Good-night, Roger."