THE AWKWARD AGE
turning the next moment to the door, at which one of the footmen had appeared.
"Mrs. Brookenham's compliments, please sir," this messenger articulated, "and Miss Brookenham is now alone."
"Thanks—I'll come up."
The servant withdrew, and the eyes of the two visitors again met for a minute, after which Mitchy looked about for his hat. "Good-by. I'll go."
Mr. Longdon watched him while, having found his hat, he looked about for his stick. "You want to be in everything?"
Mitchy, without answering, smoothed his hat down; then he replied: "You say you're not for long, but you won't abandon her."
"Oh, I mean I sha'n't last forever."
"Well, since you so expressed it yourself, that's what I mean too. I assure you I sha'n't desert her. And if I can help you—"
"Help me?" Mr. Longdon interrupted, looking at him hard.
It made him a little awkward. "Help you to help her, you know—!"
"You're very wonderful," Mr. Longdon presently returned. "A year and a half ago you wanted to help me to help Mr. Vanderbank."
"Well," said Mitchy, "you can't quite say I haven't."
"But your ideas of help are of a splendor!"
"Oh, I've told you about my ideas." Mitchy was almost apologetic. Mr. Longdon hesitated. "I suppose I'm not indiscreet then in recognizing your marriage as one of them. And that, with a responsibility so great already assumed you appear fairly eager for another—"
"Makes me out a kind of monster of benevolence?" Mitchy looked at it with a flushed face. "The two re-
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