han that thunder. Three
banks fell down in Brooklyn, too."

"What banks?"

Delancy named them; it sounded serious, but neither Duane nor Rosalie
were any wiser.

"The Wolverine Mercantile Loan and Trust Company closed its doors,
also," observed Delancy, dropping the tips of his long, highly coloured
fingers into his finger-bowl as though to wash away all personal
responsibility for these financial flip-flaps.

Rosalie laughed: "This is pleasant information for a rainy day," she
said. "Duane, have you heard from Geraldine?"

"Yes, to-day," he said innocently; "she is leaving Lenox this morning
for Roya-Neh. I hear that there is to be some shooting there Christmas
week. Scott writes that the boar and deer are increasing very fast and
must be kept down. You and Delancy are on the list, I believe."

Rosalie nodded; Delancy said: "Miss Seagrave has been good enough to ask
the family. Yours is booked, too, I fancy."

"Yes, if my father only feels up to it. Christmas at Roya-Neh ought to
be a jolly affair."

"Christmas anywhere away from New York ought to be a relief," observed
young Grandcourt drily.

They laughed without much spirit. Coffee was served, cigarettes lighted.
Presently Grandcourt sent a page to find out if the car had returned
from the garage where Rosalie had sent it for a minor repair.

The car was ready, it appeared; Rosalie retired to readjust her hair and
veil; the two men standing glanced at one another:

"I suppose you know," said Delancy, reddening with embarrassment, "that
Mr. and Mrs. Dysart have separated."

"I heard so yesterday," said Duane coolly.

The other grew redder: "I heard it from Mrs. Dysart about half an hour
ago." He hesitated, then frankly awkward: "I say, Mallett, I'm a sort of
an ass about these things. Is there any impropriety in my going about
with Mrs. Dysart--under the circumstances?"

"Why--no!" said Duane. "Rosalie has to go about with people, I suppose.
Only--perhaps it's fairer to her if you don't do it too often--I mean
it's better for her that any one man should not appear to pay her
noticeable attention. You know what mischief can get into print. What's
taken below stairs is often swiped and stealthily perused above stairs."

"I suppose so. I don't read it myself, but it makes game of my mother
and she finds a furious consolation in taking it to my father and
planning a suit for damages once a week. You're right; most people are
afraid of it. Do you think