vaudeville wits.

Finally they got into the waiting motor and went to the
Fairview-Hartford, where the eating is better than in any New York
hotel.

As they were about to enter the dining-room Grace Goodchild put on her
restaurant look of utter unconsciousness and stone deafness and
blindness, which had grown into a habit since she became famous.

She entered the dining-room ahead of the others, as usual. She took nine
steps before she stopped short. Her face went pale.

Nobody had stopped eating!

Nobody had turned around to stare!

Nobody had stage-whispered, "There she is!"

No woman had said, "Do you think she is as beautiful as the newspapers
try to make out?"

Not one imbecile male look; not one feminine sneer! Nothing! No fame!

"What's the matter?" asked Monty in alarm.

Grace felt an overwhelming desire to stand there until the people
looked, even if it took a year.

As the century-long seconds passed she barely could resist the impulse
to shout, "Fire!"

"Anything wrong?" whispered Monty, with real concern.

"N-no-nothing!" she stammered, and followed Ruth, who had passed her,
unnoticing.

Her color returned as wrath dispelled amazement.

For the first time since H. R. began to woo her in public places with
sandwiches Grace Goodchild actually had to eat food in a restaurant. In
New York famous people don't go to restaurants to eat.

She was distraite throughout the luncheon. She thought Monty was an ass.

And the other feeding beasts must have read the New York papers! There
was absolutely no excuse.

In the evening the same thing happened. That is, nothing happened. The
Fiddles' friends tried to be particularly nice to her by talking of the
opera, novels, the dancing-craze, the resurgence of the Republican
party, and cubism. It only made it worse. And not one knew the Rutgers
Roll!

The next day Ruth and the young men took her to the Philadelphia Country
Club. Same thing! And later to a dance at the Fitz-Marlton. Ditto!

Her good looks, her gowns, and her nice manners made a very favorable
impression on all of Ruth's friends, male and female, young and old.
Hang 'em, that's all it did!

It was like Lucullus being asked to eat sanitary biscuits.

She had wanted peace. But not in a burial crypt. On the fourth day of
extinction she said to Ruth after breakfast:

"My dear, I must return to New York!"

"Oh no! Grace, darling, I've accepted seventeen--"

"I must, Ruth. I simply mus