If a man and a woman tentatively interested in each other would part for years at the end of a long day together, during which they had talked until every subject on earth seemed exhausted¹, and ennui² inevitable³, the cure would be effected before the disease had declared itself. An appreciative⁴ thought now and again, a passing regret, other minds as stimulating⁵, the episode is closed. Astute⁶ wives have been known to apply a form of this treatment to husbands and the objects of their roving fancy; perchance in time it will be recognized as a sort of love vaccine⁷ and scientifically administered.

Julia and Tay talked almost uninterruptedly until eleven o’clock that night, and existed comfortably apart for nearly a week. Julia plunged⁸ into routine work with renewed ardors, refused to look at her tea-gowns, and when she thought of Tay at all was rather glad they had met at last and had a jolly talk. Tay sent her a box of roses (automatically), but was too busy to think about her; for the increased importance of his house, to say nothing of his reluctant millions, depended upon the success of his efforts in London. But on Saturday he found himself idle, and promptly⁹ thought of Julia. A brief talk on the telephone ended in an invitation to dine at Clement’s Inn that night; and with his desire for feminine society once more alert, and for Julia’s in particular, he appeared with his usual promptness.

Julia, who had grown methodical, had put on the green tea-gown as a logical result of its purchase for the delectation of her old friend; and he gave it instant approval.

“By Jove!” he exclaimed. “That’s the sort of thing you were made for. You look less of a Suffragette than ever. I hope that when you have

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