has perhaps no greater claim to social distinction than bacon and ham
or--pills.

The church bells were ringing, and I had to go down. Nancy stayed on the
roof.

"Send Anthony up if he's there," she said; "we will sit here aloft like
two cherubs and look down on you, and you will wish that you were with
us."

But I knew that I should not wish it; that I should be glad to walk
along the shaded streets with my friends and neighbors, to pass the
gardens that were yellow with sunlight, and gay with larkspur and
foxglove and hollyhocks, and to sit in the pew which was mine by
inheritance.

Anthony was down-stairs. He was a tall, perfectly turned out youth, and
he greeted me in his perfect manner.

"Nancy is on the roof," I told him, "and she wants you to come up."

"So you are going to church? Pray for me, Elizabeth."

Yet I knew he felt that he did not need my prayers. He had Nancy, more
money than he could spend, and life was before him. What more, he would
ask, could the gods give?

I issued final instructions to my maids about the dinner and put on my
hat. It was a rather superlative hat and had come from Fifth Avenue. I
spend the spring and fall in New York and buy my clothes at the smartest