bugbear of the delicate-minded, shot off first to the Hoover divorce,
and then to the somewhat public disagreement between the Governor of the
State and Congressman Hardwicke, at the Chamber of Commerce luncheon for
the visiting President; finally to a number of things. By the time six
weeks had passed, the Beach had dropped completely from the minds of a
fickle public. Dalhousie, it seemed, had considerately vanished. Talk
ceased. The boat trouble blew over, much as the boat had done....

About this time, namely, about the middle of the seventh week, one of
Willie Kerr's cryptic messages lay beside Mrs. Heth's breakfast plate on
a morning. It ran:

I think he will come at 5.30 o'clock
Wednesday. Better arrive first?

W.K.

Willie's cipher (he liked to write as if he lived in Russia, with the
postal spies after him like hawks) was no mystery to Mrs. Heth, she
being, in a certain measure, its inventor. Having taken the telegraphic
brevity upstairs to show to Carlisle, she disappeared into the telephone
booth, to rearrange her afternoon. If all subscribers to the telephonic
system were as tireless users as she, probably fewer people would have
made large fortunes by the timely purchase of forty dollars worth
of stock.

This was a Wednesday morning in mid-December. Carlisle, recuperating
from a gay debutante rout on the evening preceding, remained in bed. By
this time the "season" was well under way: all signs promised an
exceptionally gay winter, and Carlisle was, as ever, in constant demand.