Jean held out her hand to him. "Do you love her?"
He took it, embarrassed, without meeting her look; then, suddenly, something of importance seemed to occur to him and he replied with simple alertness: "I never mentioned it!"
Dimly, but ever so kindly, Jean smiled. "Because you hadn't had your talk with me?" She kept hold of his hand. "Dear Paul, I must say it again—you're beautiful!"
He stared, not as yet taking this approval home; then with the same prompt veracity, "But she knows it, you know, all the same!" he exclaimed.
Jean laughed as she released him; but it kept no gravity out of the tone in which she presently repeated: "I'm sorry for you."
"Oh, it's all right! May I light a cigarette?" he asked.
"As many as you like. But I must leave you."
He had struck a match, and at this he paused. "Because I'm smoking?"
"Dear, no. Because I must go over to see Effie." Facing wistfully to her little friend's quarter, Jean thought aloud. "I always bid her
