“Oh, see here, now, Cortlandt is more than a clerk.”

“He’s an errand-boy.  He knows it, she knows it, and a few other people know it.  He’s the figurehead behind which she works.  She’s a rich woman, she loves the game—­her father was the greatest diplomat of his time, you know—­and she married Cortlandt so she could play it.  Any other man would have served as well, though I’ve heard that he showed promise before she blotted him out and absorbed him.  But now he’s merely her power of attorney.”

Anthony pursed his lips into a whistle of astonishment.  As usual, he reflected, his judgment had been strictly college-made.

“It’s been a good thing for him,” Runnels ran on, evidently warmed to his subject.  “She’s made his reputation; he has money and position.  For my part, I’d rather remain insignificant and have a real wife, even if she does have hysterics over a club button.”

“Don’t they love each other?”

“Nobody knows.  She’s carved out of ice, and, as for him, well, gratitude is a good deal like rust—­in time it destroys the thing it clings to.  I suppose I’m talking too much, but others would tell you the same things.  I consider her the smartest woman I ever met, and I admire her immensely.  You are mighty fortunate to be her friend.  She’ll force you to the top in spite of yourself.”

“I’m not sure I like that.  It doesn’t sound good.”

“Oh, don’t misconstrue what I’ve said,” Runnels hastened to add.  “She isn’t that sort.”

“I didn’t mean that,” said Kirk, briefly, and lapsed into a silence from which he roused only to discuss the details of his coming work.

It was with quite a different eye that he looked upon his host and hostess that evening.  To his genuine liking for the latter was now added a worshipful admiration and a boyish gratification at her regard, which rather put her at a distance.  When she questioned him on their way to the Plaza for the band concert later in the evening, he told her of his trip and of Runnels’ kindness.

“It’s all settled,” said he.  “I’m going to work in a few days as train collector.”

“What?” Mrs. Cortlandt turned upon him sharply.  “Runnels didn’t offer you that sort of position?” Her eyes were dark with indignation.  Kirk promptly came to the defence of his new friend.

“No, I asked for it.”

“Oh, I see.  Well, he will do much better by you than that.”

“I don’t want anything better to start with.”

“But, my dear boy, a collector is merely a conductor.  He takes tickets.”

“Sure!  I can do that.  I might fail at something hard.”

“No, no, no!  I’ll see that you don’t fail.  Don’t you understand?”

“I understand a lot more than I did, Mrs. Cortlandt.  That’s why I don’t want to rob some chap of a job he’s entitled to, and I sha’n’t.  There’s a collector quitting shortly.”

She stared at him curiously for a moment before inquiring: