nd she called a hasty meeting of her four closest comrades,
voicing imperative needs and fervent appeals for help, she readily
secured four promises of attendance in the Cloude Cote that evening at
exactly seven-thirty.

At seven-forty-five Eveley sat on the floor beside the window impatiently
tapping with the absurd tip of an absurd little slipper. Nolan had not
come.

Kitty Lampton was there, balancing herself dangerously with two cushions
on the arm of a big rocker. Eveley called Kitty the one drone in her
circle of friendship, for Kitty was born to golden spoons and lived a
life of comfort and ease and freedom from responsibility in a great home
with a doting father, and two attentive maids. Eileen Trevis was there,
too, having arrived promptly on the stroke of seven-thirty. Eileen Trevis
always arrived promptly on the stroke of the moment she was expected. She
was known about town as a successful business woman, though still in the
early thirties. The third of the group was Miriam Landis, whose
inexcusable marriage to her handsome husband had seriously deranged the
morale of the little quartet of comrades.

Eveley looked around upon them. "It is a funny thing, a most remarkably
funny thing!" she said indignantly. "Every one says that girls are always
late, and you three, except Eileen, are usually later than the average
late ones. Yet here you are. And every one says that men are always
prompt, and Nolan is certainly worse than the average man in every
conceivable way. But Nolan, where is he?"

"Well, go ahead and tell us the news anyhow," said Kitty, hugging the
back of the chair to keep from falling while she talked. "But if it is
anything about that funny Americanization stuff, you needn't tell it. I
asked father about it, and he explained it fully, only he lost me in the
first half of the first sentence. So I don't want to hear anything more
about it. And you don't need to tell me any more ways of not doing my
duty, either, for I am not doing it now as hard as I can."

Miriam Landis leaned forward from the couch where she was lounging idly.
"What is this peculiar little notion of yours about duty, Eveley?" she
asked, smiling. "My poor child, all over town they are exploiting you and
your silly notions. Even my dear Lem uses your disbelief in duty to
excuse himself for being out five nights a week."

"That is absurd," said Eveley, flushing. "And they may laugh all they
like. I do believe that duty has wrec