He walked home and flung himself to bed, his mind tired, his nerves unstrung, and all the blood of his body apparently concentrated in his brain.

Working at night after writing all day long was telling upon him, and he knew it.
What with his work and his companionship with Blix, Condy soon began to drop out of his wonted place in his "set." He was obliged to decline one invitation after another that would take him out in the evening, and instead of lunching at his club with Sargeant or George Hands, as he had been accustomed to do at one time, he fell into another habit of lunching with Blix at the flat on Washington Street, and spending the two hours allowed to him in the middle of the day in her company.
Condy's desertion of them was often spoken of by the men of his club with whom he had been at one time so intimate, and the subject happened to be brought up again one noon when Jack Carter was in the club as George Hands' guest.

Hands, Carter, and Eckert were at one of the windows over their after-dinner cigars and liqueurs.
"I say," said Eckert suddenly, "who's that girl across the street there--the one in black, just going by that furrier's sign?
I've seen her somewhere before.

Know who it is ?" "That's Miss Bessemer, isn't it ?" said George Hands, leaning forward.
"Rather a stunning-looking girl." "Yes, that's Travis Bessemer," assented Jack Carter; adding, a moment later, "it's too bad about that girl." "What's the matter ?" asked Eckert.
Carter lifted a shoulder.

"Isn't ANYTHING the matter as far as I know, only somehow the best people have dropped her.