getting back from forty-seven teas. Gabble, gabble, gabble. I
don't blame him. We deserve it."

"Then you have had nothing to eat?"

"Almost. Only insignificant indigestibles."

Dave pressed a button, and a Chinese boy (all male Chinese are boys)
entered, bowing in that deference which is so potent to separate the
white man from his silver. The white man glories in being salaamed,
especially by an Oriental, who can grovel with a touch of art. And the
Oriental has not been slow to capitalize his master's vanity.

"Bring something to eat. Go out for it, and be quick. For two."

"Ice cleam? Toast? Tea--"

"No! Something to eat! Soup, flied chicken, hot vegetables, dessert,
everything."

"You've had your dinner, surely?" asked Bert.

"Such a dinner as a man eats alone," he answered. "Now for something
real. You stick to the paper like the ink, don't you, Bert?"

"Can't leave it. I hate it--and I love it. It's my poison and my
medicine. Most of all I hate the society twaddle. And, of course,
that's what I have to do."

"And you write it up so gloriously," said Dave. "Enthusiasm in every
line of it."

"You read it, then? I thought all men looked on the society page with
contempt."

"They do. But they look on it just the same--long enough to see
whether their names appear among those present."

"Or whose husband is out of town?"

"You're growing more cynical all the time."

"How can I help it, when I see both sides of the game? If I printed
half what I know I'd have every lawyer in this city busy
to-morrow--except those who skipped out over-night."

"You know it," Dave agreed. "But here is dinner." The boy wheeled a
table between them, and there was a savoury smell of hot food.

"A _recherche_ repast," screamed Bert, half through her soup, with a
great burst of merriment. "Oh, I must tell you. You remember the
Metfords? You used to shovel coal for them. I know you're no snob, or
I wouldn't put it so brutally. Of course, they're rich. Sold the old
stable-yard for a quarter of a million, or thereabouts, and are now
living in style. Some style! When they have guests, as they nearly
always have--there'll be parasites as long as there's easy money--old
man Metford eats breakfast in evening dress. And she orders the
chiffonier to take the guests down to the _depot_ in their Packer. But
one thing has gone to her heart. She didn't realize in time that it
wasn't good form to be p