"Sure it was," he lied.
"But she told?"
"No—we were overseen by Dolittle—and he told."
"Most unfortunate!" smiled Dalton. "It's perfectly plain now. To defend herself, Mrs. Lorraine tells Lorraine that you kissed her by force—and Lorraine rushes off and prosecutes you. It's a pretty mess. Everybody knows it, and everybody will be talking, and everyone concerned will be more or less smudged. I'm sorry for you, Porshinger."
"Why sorry?" Porshinger demanded. "Since when has it become a crime to kiss a pretty woman?"
"It hasn't. Your crime wasn't in kissing her but in kissing her so bunglingly as to be overseen. Society never quite forgives one, particularly a new-comer, that sort of clumsiness. It is always remembered against him."
"Not if he can buy forgetfulness," said Porshinger easily.
Dalton's glance flashed an instant over the other's face.
"Perhaps—it's sometimes done, though not often. You may be an exception, Porshinger. I trust so."