rear Ruth properly. She had been neglecting this duty so far as to
permit the invasion of a barbarian named Ericson only because she had
been in California with her young son, Arthur. Just now, while her
house was being opened, she was staying at the Winslows', with Arthur
and a peculiarly beastly Japanese spaniel named Taka-San.

She was introduced at Carl, she glanced him over, and passed him on to
Olive Dunleavy, all in forty-five seconds. When Carl had recovered
from a sensation of being a kitten drowned in a sack, he said
agreeable things to Olive, and observed the situation in the
drawing-room.

Phil was marked out for Aunt Emma's favors; Mr. Winslow sat in a
corner, apparently crushed, with restorative conversation administered
by Ruth; Mason Winslow was haltingly attentive to a plain,
well-dressed, amiable girl named Florence Crewden, who had
prematurely gray hair, the week-end habit, and a weakness for baby
talk. Ruth's medical-student brother, Bobby Winslow, was not there.
The more he saw of Bobby's kind Aunt Emma, the more Carl could find it
in his heart to excuse Bobby for having escaped the family dinner.

Carl had an uncomfortable moment when Aunt Emma and Mr. Winslow asked
him questions about the development of the Touricar. But before he
could determine whether he was being deliberately inspected by the
family the ordeal was over.

As they went in to dinner, Mr. Winslow taking in Aunt Emma like a
small boy accompanying the school principal, Ruth had the chance to
whisper: "My Hawk, be good. Please believe I'm not responsible. It's
all Aunt Emma's doing, this dreadfully stately family dinner. Don't
let her bully you. I'm frightened to death and----Yes, Phil, I'm
coming."

The warning did not seem justified in view of the attractive
table--candles, cut glass, a mound of flowers on a beveled mirror,
silvery linen, and grape-fruit with champagne. Carl was at one side of
Aunt Emma, but she seemed more interested in Mr. Winslow, at the end
of the table; and on his other side Carl had a safe companion in Olive
Dunleavy. Across from him were Florence Crewden, Phil, and Ruth--Ruth
shimmering in a gown of yellow satin, which broke the curves of her
fine, flushed shoulders only by a narrow band.

The conversation played with people. Florence Crewden told, to
applause and laughter, of an exploratory visit to the College of the
City of New York, and her discovery of a strange race, young Jews
mostly, who we