From the day, now some months ago, when he met Lola Barnhelm, until some time after her accident, he had dropped out of the sight of his friends, and upon his return he offered no explanation for his absence, other than that he had been having a stupid time and was anxious to make up for it.
Lola had been the first well-bred girl he had ever known, and all that was good in his nature had been stirred by the first meeting with her. Her reproaches for his deceit about his wife had really hurt him, and the shock he had experienced when he believed himself to have been the cause of her death had been the one terrible experience of his shallow life. He had been taken to the police station, and while waiting for his lawyer to arrange for his release on bail had been informed that the girl was not seriously hurt and that there was no charge against him.
His relief from his feeling of horror and remorse was naturally great, but he made up his mind that it was quite hopeless to expect Lola's forgiveness, and when he met her one day on Broadway, shortly after her recovery, he was about to pass her without any other greeting than a bow, when to his great surprise she stopped him and, without any reference either to the accident or to his deceit about his marriage, chatted with him so gayly and so pleasantly that he took heart and invited her to drop into a restaurant with him for a cup of tea.
From her manner, as she entered the great room filled with laughing, chattering, well-dressed men and women, he could hardly be blamed for not knowing that this was the first time in all her life that she had ever been in such a place.
Neither her father nor John Dorris were rich men; they knew nothing of the life that is reflected in such place; to John a few visits with her, to the theatre, long walks in the Park, or quiet evenings in the apartment won the natural development of their intimacy, and Dr. Barnhelm knew as little as he cared, which was not at all, about the sham glitter and forced gayety of the great eating places that have done so much to destroy the home life of the average New Yorker.
In these surroundings, in an atmosphere of false luxury, of noise, heat, and confusion, against a background of painted women and flushed and loud-voiced men, the real reverence he had always had for her began rapidly to disappear, and he found himself looking upon her simply as a charming and beautiful young girl, who, as a matter of course, was to be pursued as diligently and as relentlessly as circumstances would allow. After all, the respect the world has for us is usually the measure of our own respect for ourselves, and as Lola made no effort to rebuke his rather daring advances, they naturally increased in freedom until in all the great room there was no gayer table than theirs.