esslyn's annoyance, she was always
spoken of as "Mrs. George Dexter Tresslyn." Moreover, in several
instances, George's mother had found her own name printed next to Lutie's
in the alphabetical list of guests at rather large entertainments, and
once,--heaven forfend that it should happen again!--the former "mustard
girl's" picture was published on the same page of a supplement with that
of the exclusive Mrs. Tresslyn and her daughter, Mrs. Templeton Thorpe,
over the caption: "The Tresslyn Triumvirate," supplied by a subsequently
disengaged art editor.

George came near to being turned out into the street one day when he so
far forgot himself as to declare that Lutie was worth the whole Tresslyn
lot put together, and she ought to be thankful she had had "the can tied
to her" in time. His mother was livid with fury.

"If you ever mention that person's name in this house again, you will have
to leave it forever. If she's worth anything at all it is because she has
appropriated the Tresslyn name that you appear to belittle. You--"

"She didn't appropriate it," flared George. "I remember distinctly of
having given it to her. I don't care what you say or do, mother, she
deserves a lot of credit. She's made a place for herself, she's decent,
she's clever--"

"She hasn't earned a place for herself, let me remind you, sir. She made
it out of the proceeds of a sale, the sale of a husband. Don't forget,
George, that she sold you for so much cash."

"A darned good bargain," said he, "seeing that she got me at my own
value,--which was nothing at all."

Lutie went on her way serenely, securely. If she had a thought for George
Tresslyn she succeeded very well in keeping it to herself. Men would have
made love to her, but she denied them that exquisite distraction. Back in
her mind lurked something that guaranteed immunity.

The year had dealt its changes to Lutie as well as to the others, but they
were not important. Discussing herself frankly with Simmy Dodge one
evening, she said:

"I'm getting on, am I not, Simmy? But, after all, why shouldn't I? I'm a
rather decent sort, and I'm not a real vulgarian, am I? Like those people
over there at the next table, I mean. The more I go about, the more I
realise that class is a matter of acquaintance. If you know the right sort
of people, and have known them long enough, you unconsciously form habits
that the other sort of people haven't got, so you're said to have 'class.'
Of course