"He had to speak in English to her," she whispered; "isn't that
splendid! Did you notice that, Snooky?"

On the way home Blix was wondering how she should pass her
evening. She was to have made one of a theatre party where Jack
Carter was to be present. Then she suddenly remembered "Morrowbie
Jukes," "The Return of Imri," and "Krishna Mulvaney." She
continued on past her home, downtown, and returned late for supper
with "Plain Tales" and "Many Inventions."

Toward half-past eight there came a titter of the electric bell.
At the moment Blix was in the upper chamber of the house of
Suddhoo, quaking with exquisite horror at the Seal-cutter's magic.
She looked up quickly as the bell rang. It was not Condy Rivers'
touch. She swiftly reflected that it was Wednesday night, and
that she might probably expect Frank Catlin. He was a fair
specimen of the Younger Set, a sort of modified Jack Carter, and
called upon her about once a fortnight. No doubt he would hint
darkly as to his riotous living during the past few days and refer
to his diet of bromo-seltzers. He would be slangy, familiar, call
her by her first name as many times as he dared, discuss the last
dance of the Saturday cotillion, and try to make her laugh over
Carter's drunkenness. Blix knew the type. Catlin was hardly out
of college; but the older girls, even the young women of twenty-
five or six, encouraged and petted these youngsters, driven to the
alternative by the absolute dearth of older men.

"I'm not at home, Victorine," announced Blix, intercepting the
maid in the hall. It chanced that it was not Frank Catlin, but
another boy of precisely the same breed; and Blix returned to