Introductions were in order, everyone wanted to meet the Bellamys'
friend, and Harriet saw that it pleased him, for some inscrutable
reason, to continue his ridiculous conversation with the flattered
Ward, and to accept names and greetings absently, in an aside, as
it were, smiling perfunctorily and briefly at the eager girls and
women, and returning immediately to his concerned and passionate
undertones with the boy.

Isabelle fluttered forward, to fare a little more fortunately.
Ward dropped into the background now, and his beautiful little
mother stood in a full sunset flood of light, with her small hand
in that of the lion, and the cream and black hat, with its pink
roses, close to the drooping, reverential head.

It was Isabelle who brought him to the tea table. Harriet had
felt, with a sure premonition of disaster, that it must be. She
might not escape, there was nothing for it but courage, now. Her
breath was behaving badly, and the muscles contracted in her
throat, but she managed a smile.

"And this is Miss Field, Mr. Blondin," said Isabella. "She will
give you some tea!"

"Miss Field," said Royal Blondin, and his dark hand came across
the tea-cups. Harriet, as his thin mouth twitched with just the
hint of a smile, looked straight into his eyes, and she knew he
was as frightened as she. But from neither was there a visible
sign of consternation. "No tea," the man said, making of the
decision a splendid and significant renunciation. "Nothing--