space. She had felt nervous and depressed since morning and would
have spent the day in bed had she dared.

Mr. McLane, Mr. Abbott, Colonel "Jack" Belmont, Alexander Groome,
Mr. Ballinger, Amos Lawton and several others were chatting with her
when Ben Travers sauntered up to demand his potion. He had already
paid several visits, and although he carried his liquor well, it was
patent to the eyes of his friends he was in that particular stage of
inebriation that swamped his meagre stock of good nature and the
superficial cleverness which made him an agreeable companion, and set
free all the maliciousness of a mind contracted with years and
disappointments: he had never made "his pile" and it was current
history that he had been refused by every belle of his youth.

He made Madeleine a courtly bow as he took the goblet from her
hands, not forgetting to pay her a well-turned compliment on those
hands, not the least of her physical perfections. Then he balanced
himself on the edge of the table with a manifest intention of joining
in the conversation. Madeleine felt an odd sense of terror, although
she knew nothing of his discoveries and communications; there was a
curious hard stare in his bleared eyes and it seemed to impale her.

He began amiably enough. "Best looking frocks in this house I've
seen today. At least five from Paris. Mrs. McLane brought back four
of them besides her own. Seen some awful old duds today. 'Lupie
Hathaway had on an old black silk with a gaping placket and three
buttons off in front. Some of the other things were new enough, but
the dressmakers in this town need waking up. Of course yours came
from New York, Mrs. Talbot. Charming, simply charming."