"One moment, dear. I promised the children that you would lunch with
them in the nursery. Do you mind? I did it to keep them quiet; I was
weak enough to compromise between a fox hunt or fudge; so I said you'd
lunch with them.. Will you?"

"Certainly. . . . And, Nina--what sort of a man is this George Fane?"

"Fane?"

"Yes--the chinless gentleman with gentle brown and protruding eyes and
the expression of a tame brontosaurus."

"Why--how do you mean, Phil? What sort of man? He's a banker. He isn't
very pretty, but he's popular."

"Oh, popular!" he nodded, as close to a sneer as he could ever get.

"He has a very popular wife, too; haven't you met Rosamund? People like
him; he's about everywhere--very useful, very devoted to pretty women;
but I'm really in a hurry, Phil. Won't you please explain to Eileen that
I couldn't wait? You and she were almost an hour late. Now I must pick
up my skirts and fly, or there'll be some indignant dowagers
downtown. . . . Good-bye, dear. . . . And _don't_ let the children eat
too fast! Make Drina take thirty-six chews to every bite; and Winthrop
is to have no bread if he has potatoes--" Her voice dwindled and died,
away through the hall; the front door clanged.

He went to his quarters, drove out Austin's man, arranged his own fresh
linen, took a sulky plunge; and, an unlighted cigarette between his