No. — Thirty-fourth Street.
I procured a large envelope and took it into the bedroom, where I could re-insert the bank bills without danger of arousing the cupidity of young Mercury. With a lead pencil I added to the note a request that the recipient would send just a line by bearer to show that my message had arrived safely, and saw the boy depart, feeling that I had at last done the sensible thing.
Whether this proved to be the case I will leave the reader to judge when he has finished this volume.
CHAPTER IX.
A PRIVATE DINING ROOM.
Saturday evening was dull enough, being only brightened by a pencilled note from Miss May, reading simply, "Money received. Will see you Tuesday." I went over to the Lyceum Theatre to a play called "The Tree of Knowledge," which I now believe one of the brightest things produced on the American stage in years, though I was too full of other thoughts to appreciate it at the time.
It was an attempt to shift the burden of blame that has rested in all fiction on the shoulders of the man, to that of the woman, and was so far rather welcome to me. We are a bad lot, as a rule, I am afraid, but some allowance should be made for a case like the one in the play, where a well intentioned young fellow is used as a football by a girl who does not care if his life is ruined, so long as she accomplishes her designs.
I remember being somewhat surprised at the apparent approval of the fine audience, but that may have been due in a measure to the delightful acting of the various parts. I had not been to the Lyceum for a long time and did not remember to have seen the "wronged young man" before, but he made a most favorable impression on me as more natural and less stagey than the average. The "villain,"—the masculine one—was an excellent actor, also. As for the "wicked" woman, I thought, if Marjorie failed me, I would give her an invitation to spend the rest of the winter in the Caribbean.
Sunday was weariness itself. I poured over the newspapers, took a walk, managed to get a short nap, for I was tired, ate my lunch, and then, to fill up the time, wrote a letter to Miss Brazier, in defense of myself from the severe attack that unknown young woman had made. It was a silly proceeding, but I liked to write about Marjorie, even to one wholly unknown, and this is what I said, as near as I can remember it: