It was fully ten o'clock when the coffee was served. Mr. Sullivan may have lost not a few "e's" and "g's" in the passing, but for all that he proved no small entertainment; and when he arose with the remark that he was "for th' tall pines," both ladies experienced an amused regret.
"Which way do you go?" asked Mr. Sullivan, laying his hand on the rector's arm.
"I pass your hotel. I shall be pleased to walk with you."
"I say," suddenly exclaimed Mr. Sullivan, pressing his pudgy fingers into the rector's arm, "where did you get this arm? Why, it is as tough as a railroad tie."
"A course of physical culture," said the rector, visibly embarrassed.
"Physical culture? All right. But don't ever get mad at me," laughed Mr. Sullivan. "It's as big as a pile-driver."
The novelist told Mr. Sullivan that he was very much obliged for his company.
"Don't mention it. Drop int' th' fight to-morrer night. You'll get more ideas there'n you will hearin' me shoot hot air."
Cathewe looked slyly at his wife. He was a man, and more than once he had slipped away from the club and taken in the last few rounds, and then had returned home to say what a dull night he had had at the club.
Mrs. Cathewe had her arm lovingly around Caroline's waist. All at once she felt Caroline start.