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 love—it does not wish to—it has itself to excuse by the faults of others."

"How true!" she murmured. Then she brightened with glee at thought of the forbidden pleasure of the tête-à-tête dinner. "Listen. Tell the man to drive to—West 57th Street; that's Laura Crosse's. They have a telephone. I'll call Aunt Lucy up and tell her I'm staying to dinner and going to the play. She'll ask to speak to Laura to verify—oh! she's horribly suspicious!—but I'll fix Laura, for I've helped her out lots of times when she was engaged to Tom. You must promise to get me home by half-past ten or eleven, for Auntie is going to dine at the Bishops', and she'll be home early—they are such bores."

"You are the best girl in the world." His voice choked a little. "I shall never forget your kindness to me, a poor beggar whom you hardly know in point of time."

"What is time?" she demanded, with fine scorn; "only what we make it. I knew you as soon as I saw you. I am never mistaken in 138