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hardened into a certainty, and
at once what little fluency and freshness he yet retained forsook him on
the spot. What made matters worse was his recollection of other
evenings that of late he had failed in precisely the same manner. Even
while he struggled to save the situation Condy was wondering if they
two were talked out--if they had lost charm for each other. Did he not
know Travis through and through by now--her opinions, her ideas, her
convictions? Was there any more freshness in her for him? Was their
little flirtation of the last eighteen months, charming as it had been,
about to end? Had they played out the play, had they come to the end of
each other's resources? He had never considered the possibility of this
before, but all at once as he looked at Travis--looked fairly into her
little brown-black eyes--it was borne in upon him that she was thinking
precisely the same thing. Condy Rivers had met Travis at a dance a
year and a half before this, and, because she was so very pretty, so
unaffected, and so good-natured, had found means to see her three or
four times a week ever since. They two "went out" not a little in San
Francisco society, and had been in a measure identified with what was
known as the Younger Set; though Travis was too young to come out,
and Rivers too old to feel very much at home with girls of twenty and
boys of eighteen. They had known each other in the conventional way
(as conventionality goes in San Francisco); during the season Rivers
took her to the theatres Monday nights, and called regularly
Wednesdays and Sundays. Then they met at dances, and managed to be
invited to the same houses for teas and dinners. They had flirted rather
desperately, and at times Condy even told himself that he loved this girl
so much younger than he--this girl with the smiling eyes and robust
figure and yellow hair, who was so frank, so straightforward, and so
wonderfully pretty. But evidently they had come to the last move in the
game, and as Condy reflected that after all he had never known the real
Travis, that the girl whom he told himself he knew through and through
was only the Travis of dinner parties and afternoon functions, he was

suddenly surprised to experience a sudden qualm of deep and genuine
regret. He had never been NEAR to her, after all. They were as far
apart as when they had first met. And yet he knew enough of her to
know that she was "worth while." He had had experience--all the
experience he wanted--with other older women and girls of society.
They were sophisticated, they were all a little tired, they had run the
gamut of amusements--in a word, they were jaded. But Travis, this girl
of nineteen, who was not yet even a debutante, had been fresh and
unspoiled, had been new and strong and young. "Of course, you may
call it what you like. He was nothing more nor less than
intoxicated--yes, drunk." "Hah! who--what--wh--what are you talking
about?" gasped Condy sitting bolt upright. "Jack Carter," answered
Travis. "No," she added. shaking her head at him helplessly, "he hasn't
been listening to a word. I'm talking about Jack Carter and the
'Saturday Evening' last night." "No, no, I haven't heard. Forgive me; I
was thinking--thinking of something else. Who was drunk?" Travis
paused a moment, settling her side-combs in her hair; then: "If you will
try to listen, I'll tell it all over again, because it's serious with me, and
I'm going to take a very decided stand about it. You know," she went
on--"you know what the 'Saturday Evening' is. Plenty of the girls who
are not 'out' belong, and a good many of last year's debutantes come, as
well as the older girls of three or four seasons' standing. You could call
it representative couldn't you? Well, they always serve punch; and you
know yourself that you have seen men there who have taken more than
they should." "Yes, yes," admitted Condy. "I know Carter and the two
Catlin boys always do." "It gets pretty bad sometimes, doesn't it?" she
said. "It does, it does--and it's shameful. But most of the girls-- MOST
of them don't seem to mind." Miss Bessemer stiffened a bit. "There are
one or two girls that do," she said quietly. "Frank Catlin had the
decency to go home last night," she continued; "and his brother wasn't
any worse than usual. But Jack Carter must have been drinking before
he came. He was very bad indeed--as bad," she said between her teeth,
"as he could be and yet walk straight. As you say, most of the girls
don't