fresh and sweet in her radiant plumage. As she caught his eye she waved
a silvery chinchilla muff at him--a marching salute--and passed on,
calling back to him: "Don't forget Gerald!"

"No," he said, "I won't forget Gerald." He stood a moment at the window
watching the brougham below where Nina awaited Miss Erroll. Then,
abruptly, he turned back into the room and picked up the telephone
receiver, muttering: "This is no time to mince matters for the sake of
appearances." And he called up Gerald at the offices of Neergard & Co.

"Is it you, Gerald?" he asked pleasantly. "It's all right about that
matter; I've sent you a note by your messenger. But I want to talk to
you about another matter--something concerning myself--I want to ask
your advice, in a way. Can you be at the Lenox by six? . . . You have an
engagement at eight? Oh, that's all right; I won't keep you. . . . It's
understood, then; the Lenox at six. . . . Good-bye."

There was the usual early evening influx of men at the Lenox who dropped
in for a glance at the ticker, or for a cocktail or a game of billiards
or a bit of gossip before going home to dress.

Selwyn sauntered over to the basket, inspected a yard or two of tape,
then strolled toward the window, nodding to Bradley Harmon and Sandon
Craig.

As he turned his face to the window and his back to the room, Harmon
came up rather effusively, offering an unusually thin flat hand and
further hospitality, pleasantly declined by Selwyn.

"Horrible thing, a cocktail," observed Harmon, after giving his own