ss with beings who
looked as impersonal as fate, and would have regarded a fork out of
alignment as a stain on their private 'scutcheon. They performed the
rite of placing the oysters on the table and retired.

Madame Zattiany and Clavering adjusted themselves to the Gothic period.
The oysters were succulent. They discussed the weather.

"This was a happy thought," he said. "It feels like a blizzard outside."

"The radiator in the dining-room is out of order."

"Oh!"

She was a woman of the world. Why in thunder didn't she make things
easier? Had she asked him here merely because she was too bored to eat
alone? He hated small talk. There was nothing he wanted less than the
personalities of their previous conversations, but she might have
entertained him. She was eating her oysters daintily and giving him the
benefit of her dark brown eyelashes. Possibly she was merely in the mood
for comfortable silences with an established friend. Well, he was not.
Passion had subsided but his nerves jangled.

And inspiration came with the soup and some excellent sherry.

"By the way! Do you remember I asked you--at that last first-night--if
you wouldn't like to see something of the Sophisticates?"

"The what?"

"Some of them still like to call themselves Intellectuals, but that
title--Intelligentsia--is now claimed by every white collar in Europe who
has turned Socialist or Revolutionist. He may have the intellect of a
cabbage, but he wants a 'new order.' We still have a few
pseudo-socialists among our busy young brains, but youth must have its
ideals and they can originate nothing better. I thought I'd coin a new
head-line that would embrace all of us."

"It is comprehensive! Well?"

"A friend of mine, Gora Dwight--at present 'foremost woman author of
America'--is giving a party next Saturday night. I'd like enormously to
take you."

"But I do not know Miss Dwight."

"She will call in due form. I assure you she understands the
conventions. Of course, you need not see her, but she will leave a card.
Not that it wouldn't be quite proper for me merely to take you."

"I should prefer that she called. Then--yes, I should like to go. Thank
you."

The men arrived with the entree and departed with the soup plates.

Once more he had an inspiration.

"Poor old Dinwiddie's laid up with the gout."

"Really? He called a day or two after the dinner, and I enjoyed hearing
him talk about the New York of hi