The Green Bungalow by Fred M. White

Blythe said very little more until the Hotel Metropolitan was reached, and he had Fishbourne comfortably seated in his private room discussing a choice cigar. And this was exactly what it should be, for Fishbourne had no great desire to be seen with Blythe in any of the more public apartments. He was no more of a snob than most people, but the line had to be drawn somewhere. Blythe, however, was quite aware of this and the knowledge cost him a pang or two. It was many years now since he had sat down with one of his own class in a purely friendly way, and the ghosts of the past rose before him.

"Now, I dare say you are wondering what all this means," he said, just a little uneasily. "You are puzzled to understand why, with my record, I should be interfering in your affairs. In the first place I have already told you that I want nothing, and that is true. Call it sentiment if you like--you could use no better word."