increased. AND DON'T MEDDLE AGAIN, Rawles."

Late that afternoon Brewster dropped in at Mrs. DeMille's to talk
over plans for the next dinner. He realized that in no other way
could he squander his money with a better chance of getting its
worth than by throwing himself bodily into society. It went
easily, and there could be only one asset arising from it in the
end--his own sense of disgust.

"So glad to see you, Monty," greeted Mrs. Dan, glowingly, coming
in with a rush. "Come upstairs and I'll give you some tea and a
cigarette. I'm not at home to anybody."

"That's very good of you, Mrs. Dan," said he, as they mounted the
stairs. "I don't know what I'd do without your help." He was
thinking how pretty she was.

"You'd be richer, at any rate," turning to smile upon him from the
upper landing. "I was in tears half the night, Monty, over that
glass screen," she said, after finding a comfortable place among
the cushions of a divan. Brewster dropped into a roomy, lazy chair
in front of her and handed her a cigarette, as he responded
carelessly:

"It amounted to nothing. Of course, it was very annoying that it
should happen while the guests were still there." Then he added,
gravely: "In strict confidence, I had planned to have it fall just
as we were pushing back our chairs, but the confounded thing
disappointed me. That's the trouble with these automatic climaxes;
they usually hang fire. It was to have been a sort of Fall of