THE BETTER SORT
and I did as much for them any day as they would be doing for me."
Bight heard her, but for a moment said nothing. "Did you tell them that? I mean say to them it was your little all."
"Not vulgarly—I know how. There are ways of saying it's 'important'; and I hint it just enough to see that the importance fetches them no more than anything else. It isn't important to them. And I, in their place," Maud went on, "wouldn't answer either; I'll be hanged if ever I would. That's what it comes to, that there are two distinct lots, and that my luck, being born so, is always to try the snubbers. You were born to know by instinct the others. But it makes me more tolerant."
"More tolerant of what?" her friend asked.
"Well, of what you described to me. Of what you rail at."
"Thank you for me!" Bight laughed.
"Why not? Don't you live on it?"
"Not in such luxury—you surely must see for yourself—as the distinction you make seems to imply. It isn't luxury to be nine-tenths of the time sick of everything. People moreover are worth to me but tuppence apiece; there are too many, confound them—so many that I don't see really how any can be left over for your superior lot. It is a chance," he pursued—"I've had refusals too—though I confess they've sometimes been of the funniest. Besides, I'm getting out of it," the young man wound up. "God knows I want to. My advice to you," he added in the same breath, "is to sit tight. There are as good fish in the sea———!"
She waited a moment. "You're sick of everything and you're getting out of it; it's not good enough for you, in other words, but it's still good enough for me. Why am I to sit tight when you sit so loose?"
"Because what you want will come—can't help com-
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