one of the old French marshals who could plan a campaign under the
hottest fire. Her blue eyes grew quite brilliant and seemed to take in
everything. Some natural color shone where the cosmetics permitted,
and her form seemed to dilate with something more than the mysteries
of French modistes. Her manner and expression said:

"I am Mrs. Allen. We are of an old New York family. We are very, very
rich. This entertainment is immensely expensive and perfect in kind. I
defy criticism. I expect applause."

Of course this was all veiled by society's completest polish; but
still by a close observer it could be seen, just as a skilful sculptor
drapes a form, but leaves its outlines perfect.

Laura was the echo of her mother, modified by the element of youth.

Zell fairly blazed. What with sparkling jewelry, flaming cheeks,
flashing eyes, and words thrown off like scintillating sparks, she
suggested an exquisite July firework, burning longer than usual and
surprising every one. Admiration followed her like a torrent, and her
vanity dilated without measure as attention and compliments were
almost forced upon her, and yet it was frank, good-natured vanity, as
naturally to be expected in her case as a throng of gaudy poppies
where a handful of seed had been dropped. Zell's nature was a soil
where good or bad seed would grow vigorously.

Mr. Van Dam was never far off, and watched her with intent, gloating
eyes, saying in self-congratulation:

"What a delicious morsel she will make!" and adding his mite to the