ass, probably, the purpose of which was to compel
you to buy from them, and pay higher prices, and take what you didn't
want.

The dress was a wonderful affair: a triumph of artful simplicity. It was
white, with a suggestion of warmth: an effect produced by a second fabric
underlying the visible silk. It made Sylvia look like a gentle queen of
marionettes. A set of jewelry of silver filigree had been bought to go
with it: circles of butterflies of infinite delicacy for bracelets, and a
necklace. You would have said there was only wanting a star to bind in her
hair and a wand for her to carry.

But the Mesquite Club ball came and went, and the Harboros were not
invited.

Harboro was stunned. The ball was on a Friday night: and on Saturday he
went up to the balcony of his house with a copy of the _Guide_ clutched in
his hand. He did not turn to the railroad news. He was interested only in
the full-column, first-page account of the ball at the Mesquite Club.
There was the customary amount of fine writing, including a patent
straining for new adjectives to apply to familiar decorations. And then
there was a list of the names of the guests. Possibly Piedras Negras
hadn't been included--and possibly he was still regarded as belonging to
the railroad offices, and the people across the river.

But no, there were the names: heads of departments and the usual
presentable clerks--young Englishmen with an air. The General Manager, as
Harboro knew, was on a trip to Torreon; but otherwise the list of names
was sufficient evidence that this first ball of the season had been a
particularly ambitious affair.

Sylvia was standing alone in the dining-room while Harboro frowned darkly
over the list of names before him. The physical Sylvia was in the
dining-room; but her mind was up on the balcony with Harboro. She was
watching him as he scowled at the first page of the _Guide_. But if
chagrin was the essence of the thing that bothered Harboro, something far
deeper caused Sylvia to stand like a slim, slumbering tree. She was
frightened. Harboro would begin to ask why? And he was a man. He would
guess the reason. He would begin to realize that mere obscurity on the
part of his wife was not enough to explain the fact that the town refused
to recognize her existence. And then...?

Antonia spoke to her once and again without being heard. Would the senora
have the roast put on the table now, or would she wait until the senor
came down-sta