door and walked into the room. It was a handsome library, softly but brightly lighted. A young man was there, reading.
“Books on etiquette is what you want to study,” said John Hopkins, abruptly. “Get up here, and I’ll give you some lessons. Be rude to a lady, will you?”
The young man looked mildly surprised. Then he arose languidly, dextrously caught the arms of John Hopkins and conducted him irresistibly to the front door of the house.
“Beware, Ralph Branscombe,” cried the lady, who had followed, “what you do to the gallant man who has tried to protect me.”
The young man shoved John Hopkins gently out the door and then closed it.
“Bess,” he said, calmly, “I wish you would quit reading historical novels. How in the world did that fellow get in here?”
“Armand brought him,” said the young lady. “I think you are awfully mean not to let me have that St. Bernard. I sent Armand for Walter. I was so angry with you.”
“Be sensible, Bess,” said the young man, taking her arm. “That dog isn’t safe. He has bitten two or three people around the kennels. Come now, let’s go tell auntie we are in good humor again.”
Arm in arm, they moved away.
John Hopkins walked to his flat. The janitor’s five-
[19]
