lers at once
began filling the glasses of the guests with cool Haut Sauterne.

Mrs. Gerard, who was very proud of her dinners, and never able to resist
the temptation of commenting upon them to her guests, leaned across to
Presley and Mrs. Cedarquist, murmuring, "Mr. Presley, do you find that
Sauterne too cold? I always believe it is so bourgeois to keep such
a delicate wine as Sauterne on the ice, and to ice Bordeaux or
Burgundy--oh, it is nothing short of a crime."

"This is from your own vineyard, is it not?" asked Julian Lambert. "I
think I recognise the bouquet."

He strove to maintain an attitude of fin gourmet, unable to refrain from
comment upon the courses as they succeeded one another.

Little Honora Gerard turned to Presley:

"You know," she explained, "Papa has his own vineyards in southern
France. He is so particular about his wines; turns up his nose at
California wines. And I am to go there next summer. Ferrieres is the
name of the place where our vineyards are, the dearest village!" She was
a beautiful little girl of a dainty porcelain type, her colouring low
in tone. She wore no jewels, but her little, undeveloped neck and
shoulders, of an exquisite immaturity, rose from the tulle bodice of her
first decollete gown.

"Yes," she continued; "I'm to go to Europe for the first time. Won't it
be gay? And I am to have my own bonne, and Mamma and I are to travel--so
many places, Baden, Homburg, Spa, the Tyrol. Won't it be gay?"

Presley assented in meaningless words. He sipped his wine mechanically,
looking about that marvellous room, with its subdued saffron lights,
its glitter of glass and silver, its beautiful women in their elaborate
toilets, its deft, correct servants; its array of tableware--cut glass,
chased silver, and Dresden crockery. It was Wealth, in all its outward
and visible forms, the signs of an opulence so great that it need never
be husbanded. It was the home of a railway "Magnate," a Railroad King.
For this, then, the farmers paid. It was for this that S. Behrman turned
the screw, tightened the vise. It was for this that Dyke had been driven
to outlawry and a jail. It was for this that Lyman Derrick had been
bought, the Governor ruined and broken, Annixter shot down, Hooven
killed.

The soup, puree a la Derby, was served, and at the same time, as hors
d'oeuvres, ortolan patties, together with a tiny sandwich made of
browned toast and thin slices of ham, sprinkled over with Parmesan