r ten fingers. "_That's_ where the money's come from," said
Henry, clearing his throat. "Out of dish-water. Only tonight we're
going out to a restaurant and eat ourselves logy, and you won't wash a
damn dish. It's my party."

CHAPTER XI

Miss Mirabelle Starkweather lifted up her cup of tea, and with the
little finger of her right hand stiffly extended to Mr. Mix's good
health. Mr. Mix, sitting upright in a gilded chair which was three
sizes too small for him, bowed with a courtliness which belonged to
the same historical period as the chair, and also drank. Over the rim
of his cup, his eyes met Mirabelle's.

"Seems to me you've got on some kind of a new costume, haven't you?"
asked Mr. Mix gallantly. "Looks very festive to me--very."

For the first time since bustles went out of fashion, Miss Starkweather
blushed; and when she blushed, she was quite as uncompromising about
it as she was about everything else. It wasn't that she had a grain
of romance in her, but that she was confused to be caught in the act of
flagging a beau; to hide her confusion, she rose, and went over to the
furthest window and flung it wide open. The month was February, and
the air was chill and raw, but Mirabelle could think of no other
pretext for turning her back and cooling her cheeks. And yet,
although she would have perjured herself a thousand times before she
would admit it, she felt a certain strange, spring-like pleasure to
know that Mr. Mix was only pretending to be deceived.

"Oh, my, no," she said over her shoulder. "I've had this since the
Flood."

Mr. Mix had also risen, to hand her back to her seat, and now he stood
looking down at her. She was wearing a gown of rustling, plum-coloured
taffeta, with cut-steel buttons; and at her belt there was a Dutch
silver chatelaine which had been ultra-smart when she had last worn
it. Vaguely, she supposed that it was ultra-smart today, and that was
the reason she had attached it to her. From the chatelaine depended a
silver pencil, a gold watch, a vinaigrette with gold-enamelled top,
and a silver-mesh change-purse. At her throat, she had a cameo, and on
her left hand, an amethyst set in tiny pearls. Mr. Mix, finishing the
inventory, seated himself and began to tap one foot on the floor,
reflectively. He was a man of perception, and he knew warpaint when he
saw it.

"Makes you look so much younger," said Mr. Mix, and sighed a little.

"Don't be a fool," said Miss Starkweather,