the market place in Madrid. As for me, I suppose I am quaint, too.
"This apartment is my refuge when I am in New York. In Boston I am merely Emerson, the jeweler. At that I cannot tell you why I became a jeweler. God's gift, perhaps. My father was a Back Bay banker; my grandfather was a seafaring merchant, who traded in spices, silks and Chinese ladies. I have learned to love diamonds and rubies and pearls. My true passion, however, is silver. I collect antique pieces. When I die, I shall fill a museum, the Emerson Museum of Argentry. And now, young man, who are you?"
Dinner, dinner alone with Ernie Emerson ended at seven-fifteen. "We have half an hour left to us," Emerson said. "Then you shall be taken to the theatre. The warm southern wine we have drunk and the rich food we've eaten should make your dance beautiful tonight. I shan't come to see you again. When you visit Boston, you will hear from me. I shall make you happy to be my friend."
"Thank you, Mr. Emerson," Ken said.
"Young man—I am just forty. How old are you?"
"Twenty-three."
"You are deeply attached to Howard Vee?"
"Not deeply."
"Say yes, Kenneth." The other spoke firmly. "I have been hearing about you for a long time. I know this Vee too. He has lived in Paris. He has spent several nights on the left bank with an Italian youth of my acquaintance. He was thick-skinned about it, considered himself above reproach, passed off our kind of association as an experi-
