blue of his dream. But he was much agitated as he went down in
the elevator.

"Heavens," he said to himself; "are we all only toys in the power
of these terrific instincts?"

For the first time he was informed of the infinite feminine
capacity for being wooed.

That night they danced in the Submarine Grill. She floated in his
embrace with triumphant lightness. Her eyes, utilized as
temporary lamps by a lighting-circuit of which she was quite
unaware, beamed with happy lustre. The lay reader, always docile
to the necessities of occasion, murmured delightful trifles. But
his private thoughts were as aloof and shining and evasive as the
goldfish that twinkled in the glass pool overhead. He picked up
her scarf and her handkerchief when she dropped them. He smiled
vaguely when she suggested that she thought she could persuade
Mr. Airedale to stay in Atlantic City over the week-end, and why
worry about the service on Sunday? But when she and the yawning
Mrs. Airedale had retired, he hastened to his chamber and packed
his bag. Stealthily he went to the desk and explained that he was
leaving unexpectedly on business, and that the bill should go to
Mr. Airedale, whose guest he had been. He slipped away out of the
side door, and caught the late train. Mrs. Airedale chafed her
daughter that night for whining in her sleep.



CHAPTER TWELVE