Into it was thrust a sheaf of cat-tails, gilded,
and tied with a pink ribbon.
Travis dropped upon the shrouded sofa, and Condy set himself
carefully down on one of the frail chairs with its spindling
golden legs, and they began to talk.
Condy had taken her to the theatre the Monday night of that week,
as had been his custom ever since he had known her well, and there
was something left for them to say on that subject. But in ten
minutes they had exhausted it. An engagement of a girl known to
both of them had just been announced. Condy brought that up, and
kept conversation going for another twenty minutes, and then
filled in what threatened to be a gap by telling her stories of
the society reporters, and how they got inside news by listening
to telephone party wires for days at a time. Travis' condemnation
of this occupied another five or ten minutes; and so what with
this and with that they reached nine o'clock. Then decidedly the
evening began to drag. It was too early to go. Condy could find
no good excuse for takng himself away, and, though Travis was
good-natured enough, and met him more than half-way, their talk
lapsed, and lapsed, and lapsed. The breaks became more numerous
and lasted longer. Condy began to wonder if he was boring her.
No sooner had the suspicion entered his head than it 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.
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