gloom was obvious.

The next day the party broke up. Wickham and Hickson taking an early
express; the others, even Nancy who abandoned her motor on account of the
snow, going in by a noonday train. Already, it seemed to Riatt that the
bonds of matrimony were closing about him as he found himself delegated
to look up Christine's trunks, maid and dressing-case.

Soon after the arrival of the train he had an appointment, made by
telephone, with Mr. Fenimer. The interview was to take place at Mr.
Fenimer's club, a most discreet and elegant organization of fashionable
virility. Riatt was not kept waiting. Fenimer came promptly to meet him.

He was a man of fifty, well made, and supremely well dressed. He was
tanned as befits a sportsman; on his face the absence of furrows created
by the absence of thought was made up for by the fine wrinkles induced by
poignant and continued anxiety about his material comforts. In his figure
the vigor of the athlete contended with the comfortable stoutness of the
epicure. He had left a discussion in which all his highest faculties had
been roused, a discussion on the replenishing of the club's cellar, and
had come to speak to his future son-in-law, with satisfaction but without
vital interest. His manner was a perfect blending of reserve and
cordiality.

"You will hardly expect a definite answer from me to-day, Mr. Riatt," he
said. "You understand, I am sure, that knowing so little of you--an only
child, my daughter"--He waved his hand, not manicured but most
beautifully cared for. Riatt noticed that in spite of these chilling
sentences, Fenimer was soon composing a paragraph for the press, and
advocating the setting of the date for the wedding early in April, as he