"Been drinking lately," Mr. Hoyt volunteered.

"You say he has?" Mrs. Buckney took him up promptly. "Is that so?
I knew he did all the time, of course, but I hadn't heard lately.
Well--! Pretty hard on Mrs. Breckenridge, isn't it?"

"Pretty hard on his daughter," Miss Leila drawled. "He has all
kinds of money, hasn't he, Park?"

"Scads," said Mr. Hoyt succinctly. Conversation languished. Miss
Leila presently said decidedly that unless her mother stood still,
the sun, which was indeed sinking low in the western sky, got in
everyone's eyes. Miss Edith said that she was dying for tea; Mr.
Hoyt's watch was consulted. Four o'clock; it was a little too
early for tea.

At about five o'clock the sunlight was softened by a steadily
rising bank of fog, which drifted in from the east; a mist almost
like a light rain beat upon the faces of the last golfers. There
were no riders on the bridle path now, and the long line of motor
cars parked by the clubhouse doors began to move and shift and
lessen. People with dinner engagements melted mysteriously away,
lights bloomed suddenly in the dining-room, shades were drawn and
awnings furled.

But in the club's great central apartment--which was reception-
room, lounging-room, and tea-room, and which, opened to the
immense porches, was used for dances in summer, and closed and
holly-trimmed, was the scene of many a winter dance as well--a