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"Society!" muttered the lad. "I don't want to know anything about

that. I should like to make some money to take you and Sibyl off

the stage. I hate it."

"Oh, Jim!" said Sibyl, laughing, "how unkind of you! But are you

really going for a walk with me? That will be nice! I was afraid

you were going to say good-bye to some of your friends-to Tom

Hardy, who gave you that hideous pipe, or Ned Langton, who makes

fun of you for smoking it. It is very sweet of you to let me have

your last afternoon. Where shall we go? Let us go to the park."

"I am too shabby," he answered, frowning. "Only swell people go

to the park."

"Nonsense, Jim," she whispered, stroking the sleeve of his coat.

He hesitated for a moment. "Very well," he said at last, "but

don't be too long dressing." She danced out of the door. One

could hear her singing as she ran upstairs. Her little feet

pattered overhead.