d there are golf links and tennis
courts near the city."

"A good many of them do. But they like to relax still further at
night. You see we are not Europeans. Americans are as serious as
children, but like children they also love to play. Remember, we are a
young nation--and a very healthy one. And you will have conversation
if you want it. The men, you may be sure, will be ready to give you
anything you demand."

"I had rather hoped to listen. Is this the house?"

Several taxis were arriving and there were many cars parked along the
block. When they entered the house they were directed to
dressing-rooms on the second floor, and Clavering met Madame Zattiany
at the head of the staircase. She wore a gown of emerald green velvet,
cut to reveal the sloping line of her shoulders, and an emerald comb
thrust sideways in the low coil of her soft ashen hair. On the
dazzling fairness of her neck lay a single unset emerald depending from
a fine gold chain. Clavering stared at her helplessly. . . . It was
evident she had not made her toilette with an eye to softening a blow!

"Am I overdressed?" she murmured. "I did not know. . . . I thought I
would dress as if--well, as if I had been invited by one of my own
friends----"

"Quite right. To 'dress down' would have been fatal. And Gora must
spend a small fortune on her clothes. . . . But you . . . you . . . I
have never seen you----"

"I am fond of green," she said lightly. "_Couleur d'esperance_. Shall
we go down?"

He followed her down the stairs and before they reached the crowded
room below he had managed to set his face; but his heart was pounding.
He gave Gora, who came forward to meet them, a ferocious scowl, but she
was too much engaged with Madame Zattiany to notice him; and so, for
that matter, was the rest of the company. Miss Dwight's gown was of
black satin painted with flaming poinsettias, and Clavering saw Madame
Zattiany give it a swift approving glance. Around her thin shoulders
was a scarf of red tulle that warmed her brown cheeks. She looked
remarkably well, almost handsome, and her strange pale eyes were very
bright. It was evident that she was enjoying her triumphs; this no
doubt was the crowning one, and she led Madame Zattiany into the room,
leaving Clavering to his own devices.

It was certainly the "distinguished party" he had promised. There were
some eight or ten of the best-known novelists and story-writers in the
coun