s with some sort of Florida water poured
over them, and mushrooms cooked under glass, and real hand-made
desserts; but Mrs. de Graffenried dares to have baked ham and sweet
potatoes, or even real roast beef. You saw to-night that she had green
corn; she must have arranged for that months ahead--we can never get it
from Porto Rico until January. And you see this little dish of wild
strawberries--they were probably transplanted and raised in a hothouse,
and every single one wrapped separately before they were shipped."

All these labours had made Mrs. de Graffenried a tremendous power in
the social world. She had a savage tongue, said Mrs. Vivie, and every
one lived in terror of her; but once in a while she met her match. Once
she had invited a comic opera star to sing for her guests, and all the
men had crowded round this actress, and Mrs. de Graffenried had flown
into a passion and tried to drive them away; and the actress, lolling
back in her chair, and gazing up idly at Mrs. de Graffenried, had
drawled, "Ten years older than God!" Poor Mrs. de Graffenried would
carry that saying with her until she died.

Something reminiscent of this came under Montague's notice that same
evening. At about four o'clock Mrs. Vivie wished to go home, and asked
him to find her escort, the Count St. Elmo de Champignon--the man, by
the way, for whom her husband was gunning. Montague roamed all about
the house, and finally went downstairs, where a room had been set apart
for the theatrical company to partake of refreshments. Mrs. de
Graffenried's secretary was on guard at the door; but some of the boys
had got into the room, and were drinking champagne and "making dates"
with the chorus-girls. And here was Mrs. de Graffenried herself,
pushing them bodily out of the room, a score and more of them--and
among them Mrs. Vivie's Count!

Montague delivered his message, and then went upstairs to wait until
his own party should be ready to leave. In the smoking-room were a
number of men, also waiting; and among them he noticed Major Venable,
in conversation with a man whom he did not know. "Come over here," the
Major called; and Montague obeyed, at the same time noticing the
stranger.

He was a tall, loose-jointed, powerfully built man, a small head and a
very striking face: a grim mouth with drooping corners tightly set, and
a hawk-like nose, and deep-set, peering eyes. "Have you met Mr. Hegan?"
said the Major. "Hegan, this is Mr. Allan Montag