ild
as the rest of the party had it not been for the seasoned apparatus
inherited from hard-drinking Southern ancestors. Altogether, he gave
himself little time for thought, and if he felt at times an inclination
to dream he thrust it from him with an almost superstitious fear. He
would speculate no longer, but neither would he run the risk of
invoking the laughter of cynical gods. If unimaginable disaster
awaited him, at least he would not weaken his defences by a sojourn in
the paradise of fools.

He avoided Oglethorpe and Dinwiddie, and although he had engaged
himself to dine at the Goodriches on Thursday night he sent an excuse.

On Thursday morning, as he was turning over the pages of one of the
newspapers his eye was arrested by the name Zattiany. He never read
Society paragraphs, but that name would leap to his eyes anywhere. The
announcement was as brief as "social notes" always are in the daily
editions of the morning papers: "Mrs. Oglethorpe gives a luncheon
tomorrow at her house in Gramercy Park to the Countess Zattiany of
Vienna."

So! She had satisfied Mrs. Oglethorpe. That was one on Dinwiddie.

On the following night he bought himself an admission ticket to the
Metropolitan Opera House and entered at the close of the second act.
As he had half expected, she was in Mrs. Oglethorpe's box, and it was
crowded with men. He fancied that his older friend looked both glum
and amused. As for Dinwiddie, his expression was half-witted.

He went home and took a bromide. Sleep, being a function, is outside
the domain of the will, and he had had little of it since Tuesday. And
sleep he must if he was to be in alert command of his faculties on the
following night.

XXVI

Madame Zattiany stood before the long old-fashioned pier glass in her
bedroom, a large cheerful room recently done over in white chintz sprayed
with violets. The bright winter sun streamed in on a scene of confusion.
Gowns were thrown over every chair and hats covered the bed. They all
had the air of being tossed aside impatiently, as indeed they had been,
and the maid with a last comprehensive look at her mistress began to
gather them up and carry them to the large wardrobes in the dressing-room.

Mary regarded herself critically. She had wished (not without malice!)
to emphasize her youthful appearance, but not at the expense of dignity,
and she felt that she had achieved the subtle combination in the frock of
soft black