stay in the country so late as now. There were many New Yorkers in the
crowd of out-of-town people at the Waldorf. Howard was attracted,
fascinated by the scene--carefully-groomed men and women, the air of gaiety
and ease, the flowers, the music, the lights, the perfumes. At a glance it
seemed a dream of life with evil and sorrow and pain banished.

"No place for a working man," thought he, "at least not for my kind of a
working man. It appeals too sharply to the instincts for laziness and
luxury."

He was late and stood in the entrance to the palm-garden, looking about for
Segur. Soon he saw him waving from a table near the wall under the
music-alcove.

"The oysters are just coming," said Segur. "Sit over there between Mrs.
Carnarvon and Miss Trevor. They are cousins, Howard, so be cautious what
you say to one about the other. Oh, here is Mr. Berersford."

The others knew each other well; Howard knew them only as he had seen their
names in the "fashionable intelligence" columns of the newspapers. Mrs.
Carnarvon was a small thin woman in a black velvet gown which made her
thinness obtrusive and attractive or the reverse according as one's taste
is toward or away from attenuation. Her eyes were a dull, greenish grey,
her skin brown and smooth and tough from much exposure in the hunting
field. Her cheeks were beginning to hang slightly, so that one said: "She
is pretty, but she will soon not be." Her mouth proclaimed strong
appetites--not unpleasantly since she was good-looking.

Miss Trevor was perhaps ten years younger than her cousin, not far from
twenty-four. She had a critical, almost amused yet not unpleasant way of