more
of the succeeding generation, of course, many more whose ancestry derived
from gold not blood, and they made up in style and ritual what they
lacked in pulchritude. Lack of beauty in the parterre boxes was as
notorious as the "horseshoe" itself, Dame Nature and Dame Fortune, rivals
always, having been at each other's throats some century and
three-quarters ago, and little more friendly when the newer aristocracy
of mere wealth was founded. All the New York Society Beauties were
historical, the few who had survived the mere prettiness of youth
entering a private Hall of Fame while still alive.

It had begun! Clavering fell back, folded his arms and set his teeth.
First one pair of opera glasses in the parterre, then another, then
practically all were levelled at Mrs. Oglethorpe's box. Young men and
old in the omnibus box remained in their seats. Very soon white
shoulders and black in the orchestra chairs began to change their angle,
attracted by the stir in the boxes. That comment was flowing freely, he
made no doubt. In the boxes on either side of him the occupants were
staring less openly, but with frequent amazed side glances and much
whispering. Madame Zattiany sat like an idol. She neither sought to
relieve what embarrassment she may have felt--if she felt any! thought
Clavering--by talking to her escort nor by gazing idly about the house
comparing other women's gowns and crowns with her own. She might have
been a masterpiece in a museum.

A diversion occurred for which Clavering at least was grateful. The door
opened and Mr. Dinwiddie entered, limping and leaning on a cane. He
looked pale and worried. Clavering resigned his seat and took one still
further in the rear. But the low-pitched dialogue came to him distinctly.

"Is this prudent?" murmured Dinwiddie, as he sat himself heavily beside
her. "There will be nothing else talked of in New York tomorrow. So far
there have only been rumors. But here! You look like Mary Ogden risen
from the dead. There's a rumor, by the way, that she is dead."

"She was alive the last time I heard from Vienna. But why imprudent?
Mr. Clavering told me of your kind concern, but I assure you that I am
neither a political nor a marital refugee."

"But you have a secret you wish to keep. Believe me, you can do so no
longer. The Sophisticates are generous and casual. They take you on
your face value and their curiosity is merely human and good-natured.
Bu