"Did you ever think of not sticking to it?" she asked. O'Rourke gazed straight ahead, and had the grace to blush. A truthful woman can always—well, act—with more ease than a truthful man.
"I am not fit for anything else," he said.
"Dear me, dear me," said Hudson, glancing nervously at his daughter. "I haven't a doubt that you are right, Bertram. A man should be the best judge himself of what he is good for."
"And now," said the lady, "you may stay to lunch. But you must hurry away right afterward for the horses."
So O'Rourke remained to lunch, and was vastly entertaining, and Mr. Hudson thawed again, having decided, during the soup, to accept the inevitable.
CHAPTER V.
AN UNCANNY GUEST
Hemming finished his novel and took it to his publisher. Then he decided to go somewhere,—to get out of New York and back to the life that meant something. He confided his intention to O'Rourke, and later to Smith.
"I wish you'd wait for awhile," pleaded O'Rourke, "and then I'd go with you."
"How long do you want me to wait?" asked Hemming.