"Fact. But come up to the roost - changing taxis - to-morrow at
five and have tea."

Down in the street Cutty bore into the slanting rain, no longer a
drizzle. With his hands jammed in his side pockets and his gaze
on the sparkling pavement he continued downtown, in a dangerously
ruminative frame of mind, dangerous because had he been followed he
would not have known it.

Molly Conover's girl! That afternoon it had been Tommy Conover's
girl; now she was Molly's. It occurred to him for the first time
that he was one of those unfortunate individuals who are always able
to open the door to Paradise for others and are themselves forced to
remain outside. Hadn't he introduced Conover to Molly, and hadn't
they fallen in love on the spot? Too old to be a hero and not old
enough to die. He grinned. Some day he would use that line.

Of course it wasn't Kitty who set this peculiar cogitation in motion.
It wasn't her arms and the perfume of her hair. The actual thrill
had come from a recrudescence of a vanished passion; anyhow, a
passion that had been held suspended all these years. Still, it
offered a disquieting prospect. He was sensible enough to realize
that he would be in for some confusion in trying to disassociate the
phantom from the quick.

Most pretty young women were flitter-flutters, unstable, shallow,
immature. But this little lady had depth, the sense of the living
drama; and, Lord, she was such a beauty! Wanted a man who would
laugh when he was happy and when he was hurt. A bull's-eye - bang,