Fredericka Batjer was a chestnut blonde, fair, cool, quiescent--a
type out of Dutch art. Clad in a morning gown of gray and silver, her
hair piled in a Psyche knot, she had in her lap on this occasion a Java
basket filled with some attempt at Norwegian needlework.

"Bevy," she said, "you remember Kilmer Duelma, don't you? Wasn't he at
the Haggertys' last summer when you were there?"

Berenice, who was seated at a small Chippendale writing-desk penning
letters, glanced up, her mind visioning for the moment the youth in
question. Kilmer Duelma--tall, stocky, swaggering, his clothes the
loose, nonchalant perfection of the season, his walk ambling, studied,
lackadaisical, aimless, his color high, his cheeks full, his eyes a
little vacuous, his mind acquiescing in a sort of genial,
inconsequential way to every query and thought that was put to him.
The younger of the two sons of Auguste Duelma, banker, promoter,
multimillionaire, he would come into a fortune estimated roughly at
between six and eight millions. At the Haggertys' the year before he
had hung about her in an aimless fashion.

Mrs. Batjer studied Berenice curiously for a moment, then returned to
her needlework. "I've asked him down over this week-end," she
suggested.

"Yes?" queried Berenice, sweetly. "Are there others?"

"Of course," assented Mrs. Batjer, remotely. "Kilmer doesn't interest
you, I presume."

Berenice smiled enigmatically.

"You remember Clarissa Faulkner, don't you, Bevy?" pursued Mrs. Batjer.
"She married Romulus Garrison."

"Perfectly. Where is she now?"

"They have leased the Chateau Brieul at Ars for the winter. Romulus is
a fool, but Clarissa is so clever. You know she writes that she is
holding a veritable court there this season. Half the smart set of
Paris and London are dropping in. It is so charming for her to be able
to do those things now. Poor dear! At one time I was quite troubled
over her."

Without giving any outward sign Berenice did not fail to gather the
full import of the analogy. It was all true. One must begin early to
take thought of one's life. She suffered a disturbing sense of duty.
Kilmer Duelma arrived at noon Friday with six types of bags, a special
valet, and a preposterous enthusiasm for polo and hunting (diseases
lately acquired from a hunting set in the Berkshires). A cleverly
contrived compliment supposed to have emanated from Miss Fleming and
conveyed to him with tact by Mrs. Batjer