dismay and annoyance: "Why, it's raining right _down_!" "What _shall_ we
do!" Tempers were lost, brothers and sisters quarrelling with each other
over the question of umbrellas. "Ah," said Geary, delighted, peeling the
cover from his umbrella in the vestibule, "I _thought_ it was going to
rain before I left and brought mine along with me. Ah, you bet I always
look out for rain!" On the horse-block stood the caller, chanting up the
carriages at the top of his voice. The street was full of coupes,
carriages, and hacks, the raindrops showing in a golden blur as they
fell across the streaming light of their lamps. The horses were smoking
and restless, and the drivers in oilskins and rubber blankets were
wrangling and shouting. At every instant there was a long roll of wheels
interrupted by the banging of the doors. Near the caller stood a useless
policeman, his shield pinned on the outside of his wet rubber coat, on
which the carriage lamps were momentarily reflected in long vertical
streaks.

In a short time all the guests were gone except the one young lady whose
maid and carriage had somehow not been sent. Henrietta Vance's brother
took this one home in a hired hack. Mrs. Vance and Henrietta sat down to
rest for a moment in the empty parlours. The canvas-covered floors were
littered with leaves of smilax and La France roses, with bits of ribbon,
ends of lace, and discarded Phrygian bonnets of tissue paper. The butler
and the second girl were already turning down the gas in the other
rooms.

* * * * *

Long before the party broke up Vandover had gone home, stunned and
dazed, as yet hardly able to realize the meaning of what had happened.
Some strange and dreadful change had taken place; things were different,
people were different to him; not every one had been so outspoken as
Turner, Henrietta Vance and her mother, but even amongst others who had
talked to him politely and courteously enough, the change was no less
apparent. It was in the air, a certain vague shrinking and turning of
the shoulder, a general atmosphere of aversion and repulsion, an unseen
frown, an unexpressed rebuff, intangible, illusive, but as unmistakable
as his own existence. The world he had known knew him now no longer. It
was ostracism at last.

But why? Why? Sitting over his tiled flamboyant stove, brooding into the
winking coals, Vandover asked himself the question in vain. He knew what
latitude young men were