ence necessary to the complete sophisticate—then dropped us."
"You mean—?"
Emerson chuckled. "You see—I have trapped you neatly. I wanted to know if you have been more than his friend." The round, flushed face broadened in a grin. "I was afraid he held you. I witnessed the contretemps of last night with interest. You care a great deal for him, more than you dare believe. He is lucky! You are born to live gaily, you have all the potential graces—you could dress elegantly, if you knew how; I wish I could teach you. I know he worships you devotedly. I could see it in his eyes last night. Lucky, lucky man!"
"Howard and I have been good friends," Ken said. "I'm not so foolish as to believe in anything else—yet. I don't consider and reconsider everything I do or say. I like Howard. He likes me. But"
"But what?"
"I don't want him to know that I"
"He knows. He knows now. Already he has become your slave. You and only you do not know it."
At the door, Ernie Emerson handed Ken a tiny jewel case.
"Really," Ken said. "I don't want to accept another gift. The watch is swell but"
"You must," Emerson said earnestly. "I am very rich. Giving jewels away is one of my vices—not the most memorable vice, yet satisfying—just the same. When you visit Boston, you may, of course, reciprocate in your own fashion."
They shook hands. The limousine bore Ken to the Com-
