ridiculous; and Ruthven made that mistake.

That was Selwyn's first encounter with the Ruthvens. A short time
afterward at the opera Gerald dragged him into a parterre to say
something amiable to one of the débutante Craig girls--and Selwyn found
himself again facing Alixe.

If there was any awkwardness it was not apparent, although they both
knew that they were in full view of the house.

A cool bow and its cooler acknowledgment, a formal word and more formal
reply; and Selwyn made his way to the corridor, hot with vexation,
unaware of where he was going, and oblivious of the distressed and
apologetic young man, who so contritely kept step with him through the
brilliantly crowded promenade.

That was the second time--not counting distant glimpses in crowded
avenues, in the Park, at Sherry's, or across the hazy glitter of
thronged theatres. But the third encounter was different.

It was all a mistake, born of the haste of a heedless and elderly
matron, celebrated for managing to do the wrong thing, but who had been
excessively nice to him that winter, and whose position in Manhattan was
not to be assailed.

"Dear Captain Selwyn," she wheezed over the telephone, "I'm short one
man; and we dine at eight and it's that now. _Could_ you help me? It's
the rich and yellow, this time, but you won't mind, will you?"

Selwyn, standing at the lower telephone in the hall, asked her to hold