highball."

"Well, then, we'll go on home," Mrs. Breckenridge said, without,
however, changing her relaxed position. "Clarence is probably
there; we've been playing cards at the Parmalees', or at least I
have. Billy and Katrina were playing tennis with Kent and--who's
the red-headed child you were enslaving this afternoon, Bill?"

"Porter Pinckard," Miss Breckenridge answered, indifferently,
before entering into a confidential exchange of brevities with
Miss Sartoris.

"I'll call him out, and run him through the liver," said Peter
Pomeroy, "the miserable catiff! I'll brook no rivals, Billy."

Billy merely smiled lazily at this; her eyes were far more
eloquent than her tongue, as she was well aware.

"Let her alone, Fascination Fledgerby!" said Mrs. Breckenridge
briskly. "Why can't we take you home with us, Elinor? We go your
way."

"You may," said Miss Vanderwall, rising. "You're dining at the
Chases', aren't you, Billy? So am I. But I was going to change
here. Where are you dining, Rachael?"

"Change at my house," Mrs. Breckenridge suggested, or rather
commanded. "I'm dining in my room, I think. I'm all in." But the
clear and candid eyes deceived no one. Clarence was misbehaving
again, everybody decided, and poor Rachael could not bespeak five