and I feel like I'm being battledored and shuttlecocked whenever I see her. Why don't you drink your tea, Winthrop?"

"I don't believe I put any sugar in it. I beg your pardon!" Claudia took up the sugarbowl. "It was Miss French, I guess. She's such a—such a gusty person. I love to hear her talk. How many, Mr. Laine?"

"Three, please, and no comments, Hope. If a man must drink tea he ought to have all the sugar he wants. That last lump was so very little I think you might put in another, Miss Keith. Thank you. Perhaps this is sweet enough." "Winthrop just takes tea to have the sugar, He's as bad as Dorothea about sweet things." Mrs. Warrick turned to her brother. "Are you really going to stay to dinner? Please do. This is the only evening we're to be home for a week, and Charming is anxious to see you on some business."

"Is he?" Laine put down his cup. "Well, he won't see me on business to-night. I've an office down-town. In your part of the world, Miss Keith, don't you ever let men have a chance to forget there's such a thing as business?"

Claudia got up. "I'm afraid they have too much chance." She put her hand lightly on Mrs. Warrick's arm. "Will you excuse me, Hope? I have a letter to write." She bowed slightly in Laine's direction and was gone before he could reach the door to draw aside the curtains for her.

Mrs. Warrick leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. "Do sit down, Winthrop, and let's talk. I'm so glad to have a little time alone with you. I so seldom have it that—"

"Your guest was certainly not slow in giving it to you. She could hardly do anything but leave after your insistence upon having things to tell me. What in the name of Heaven did you do that for? Does she think we don't know how to behave up here?"

"Oh, she understands! She knows you didn't come to see her, and, besides, she's gone up-stairs to write to her mother. If King George had been here she'd have gone. You know, I really dreaded her coming, but I needn't. She has been to a good many places—was abroad for a year with one of her sisters whose husband was secretary or something to one of our ministers or somebody—but she doesn't know New York at all. She's met a number of her friend's friends already, and I won't have to scoop up men for her. Last night at the Van Doren's she had more around her than she could talk to. Always has had, Channing says. She'll be no bother; and don't stay away because she's here. Tell me"—she put her hand on his knee—"is it true you are going to Panama next month? Robin French told me she heard you would leave on the twelfth."

"If Miss French could sell fairy tales as rapidly as she can repeat them she'd make a fortune. I have no idea what I am going to do next month."

"I wish I didn't know I was going to Savannah for Christmas. It's Channing's year, and of course we ought to go to his mother, as she is too old to come to us, but there's so much going on, and then you'll be alone."

"Oh, I'll manage all right. The one good thing about Christmas is it doesn't last long." He leaned forward and with the tongs turned a smoldering log. "But it's incomprehensible how a woman with a home can keep up this everlasting going to other people's houses. To-morrow night you go—"

"To the Taillors. Mrs. Taillor's debutante daughter makes her first bow to—"

"Capitalized society, does she? Poor child! The pains of pleasure are many."

"They surely are! She looks like a scared rabbit, and I heard her say only a week ago she'd rather die than be a debutante. But she'll get on. Her mother will corral the men and compel them to come in and pay her attention. Are you going?"

"Hardly." Laine looked at his watch. "What time do you have dinner?"

"Seven. It's time for me to dress." Mrs. Warrick got up. "Do pray be decent and go to-morrow night, Winthrop. Mr. Taillor has been such a good friend, and Mrs. Taillor will be so pleased. Don't forget to send the child flowers. I wonder if Claudia is ready. Dorothea grabs her every chance she gets, and I don't doubt she's with the children this minute. She'll stay until dinner is served, so don't worry; and for goodness' sake don't let her being here keep you away."

VIII

THE RECEPTION

Going down the crowded steps into the crowded drawing-room, Winthrop Laine slowly made his way through the door to the place where Mr. and Mrs. Taillor and their daughter were receiving their guests and passing them on with a rapidity that would have been creditable to the custodian of a game of human roulette, and as he reached them his name was called with uncomfortable clearness.

"Well, this is a surprise!" Both of Mrs. Taillor's hands held Laine's. "But commend me to a person who knows when to change his mind. Jessica, you should feel honored. Awfully good of you to come! How do you do, Mrs. Haislip?" And Laine, too, was passed on, and a moment later found himself in a corner where he could watch the door and all who came in.

What was he here for? He didn't know. The air was heavy with perfume. In the distance music reached him faintly, and the throb and stir and color and glow for some minutes interested him as he glanced around the handsome room with its massed palms, its wealth of flowers, its brilliant lights, and streams of gorgeously gowned women and prosperous-looking men, and then he wondered what had made him start anything of this sort again. To come had been a sudden decision. Long ago the dreariness of functions such as these had caused their giving-up, but a fancy to look once more upon one had possessed him unaccountably, and he had come.

Up-stairs in the men's room his reappearance had been banteringly commented on, and with good-natured hand-shaking he had been welcomed back; but down here many faces were strange and figures unrecognizable; and with something of shock he realized how few were the years necessary to change the personnel of any division of humanity. The heat was intense, and moving farther back toward a screen of palms near a half-open window, he pulled one slightly forward that he might see and not be seen, and again watched each newcomer with mild speculation as to whether he or she were known or not.

For a while it was puzzling, this continuing arrival of new faces, with here and there one he knew well or slightly; but gradually its effect chilled, and he was wondering if he could get away when he heard his name called.

"Winthrop Laine! Of all people!" Miss French held out her hand. "From what loophole were you watching this passing show for man's derision given? May I come in?"

"You may."

Miss French moved behind the palms and pushed a tall leaf aside. "You and I are too old for these things, Winthrop. I don't know why I come—to get away from myself, I suppose. Look at that Miss Cantrell! She parades her bones as if they were a private collection of which she was proud! And did you ever see anything as hideous as that gown Miss Gavins has on? Paris green couldn't be more deadly. I heard Mathilda Hickman tell her just now to be sure and wear it to her dinner next week, it was so becoming; and only yesterday she was shrieking over it at a luncheon where everybody was talking about it, Mr. Trehan is to be at the dinner, and Mathilda wants every woman to look her worst. Hello! There comes Channing and Hope and the cousin from the country. Rather a nice sort of person, awfully young and inexperienced, but—" She put up her lorgnette. "They are talking to Miss Cantrell. Miss Keith is not becoming to Miss Cantrell, or Miss Gavins, either. Her shoulders