"I want you to go over to that lady--Madame Delano, her name is--sitting
beside that beautiful girl, and introduce yourself and then me. They are
strangers and I'd like to give them a good time."

"How disinterested of you!" She looked the isolated couple over. "The
girl is all right, but I don't like the mother. She is well dressed--oh,
correct from tip to toe--but not quite the lady."

Ruyler's cool insolent gaze swept the dado of amiable overfed ladies who
fanned themselves against the wall.

"None of that! You know that I do not tolerate the New York attitude.
At least we know who ours are; they came into their own respectably,
and with no uncertain touch. Of course it is stupid of them to get fat.
Naturally it makes them look _bourgeoise_. But this is a lazy climate.
As to that woman: there is something about her I do not like. She is
aggressively not massaged, not made up. Only a woman of assured
position can afford to be mid-Victorian. It is now quite the smart
thing to make up."

"No doubt her position is assured in her own provincial town. It will be
easy enough to drop her if she doesn't go down. You can't deny that the
girl is all right--and a sweet pathetic figure."

"If the girl marries one of our boys--and no doubt that is what she was
brought here for--we shall not be able to get rid of the mother. We've
tried that and failed."

At that moment Ruyler's eyes met those of the girl. They flashed an
irresistible appeal. He drew a short breath. How different she looked!