afternoon.

But then as he sat alone, his anger died away, and there was left only
discomfort and uneasiness. And three or four days later he bought
another issue of the paper, and sure enough, there was a new paragraph!

He stood on the street-corner reading it. The social war was raging
hotly, it said; and added that Mrs. de Graffenried was threatening to
take up the cause of the strangers. Then it went on to picture a
certain exquisite young man of fashion who was rushing about among his
friends to apologize for his brother's indiscretions. Also, it said,
there was a brilliant social queen, wife of a great banker, who had
taken up the cudgels.--And then came three sentences more, which made
the blood leap like flame into Montague's cheeks:

"There have not been lacking comments upon her suspicious ardour. It
has been noticed that since the advent of the romantic-looking
Southerner, this restless lady's interest in the Babists and the trance
mediums has waned; and now Society is watching for the denouement of a
most interesting situation."

To Montague these words came like a blow in the face. He went on down
the street, half dazed. It seemed to him the blackest shame that New
York had yet shown him. He clenched his fists as he walked, whispering
to himself, "The scoundrels!"

He realized instantly that he was helpless. Down home one would have
thrashed the editor of such a paper; but here he was in the wolves' own
country, and he could do nothing. He went back to his office, and sat
down at the desk.

"My dear Mrs. Winnie," he wrote. "I have just read the enclosed
paragraph, and I cannot tell you how profoundly pained I am that your
kindness to us should have made you the victim of such an outrage. I am
quite helpless in the matter, except to enable you to avoid any further
annoyance. Please believe me when I say that we shall all of us
understand perfectly if you think that we had best not meet again at
present; and that this will make no difference whatever in our
feelings."

This letter Montague sent by a messenger; and then he went home.
Perhaps ten minutes after he arrived, the telephone bell rang--and
there was Mrs. Winnie.

"Your note has come," she said. "Have you an engagement this evening?"

"No," he answered.

"Well," she said, "will you come to dinner?"

"Mrs. Winnie--" he protested.

"Please come," she said. "Please!"

"I hate to have you--" he began.

"I wish you to come!" she said, a