"Then you recovered from the attack?" says I.
"No," says he. "She had discovered another, several others. She told me quite casually that she really hadn't meant it; and wasn't I, after all, rather a wild young man? I assured her that if I wasn't wild I should be after that. She only shrugged her shoulders. So I gave her up. The others did too. And she went back to Richmond, it seems, and married a sainted geologist; while I—well, I never did get over it, quite. Silly, of course; but when I met other girls later I—I remembered, that's all."
"Which accounts for you bein' a bach so long, does it?" says I. "Well, it's never too late. Here's your chance once more. At the Maison Maxixe you can pull any kind of romance, stale or recent, and nobody'll care a hoot. I'll duck the dinner, and you can——"
"No, no!" protests J. Bayard. "I—er—I wouldn't take her to dinner alone for worlds. Really!" he waves his hands almost tragic.
"Why not?" says I. "Thought you hadn't got over it."
"Oh, but I have," insists Steele, "thoroughly."
"Must have been lately then," says I.
"To-day—just now," says he. "I never dreamed she would develop into—er—a woman like that,—the way she looks at you, you know."
"You don't need to describe it," says I. "That wa'n't a marker to the way she looked at Swifty and me. But wait! We'll hand her a jolt Saturday night."
Steele groans. "I wish I could—— By George!" he explodes. "I'd forgotten Major Ben Cutter."