The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, July 19, 1903, Page 4

that of s feudal castle in Rouen, with some trifiing and effective touches of dec- oration in biue, scarlet and gold. The walls are of white Caen stone, with or- e windows and baiconies jutting out above. In one corner is a stately stone mantel with richly carved hood. bearing in its central vanel the escutcheon of the gallant French monarch. Up a little flight of marble steps, guarded by its hand rail of heavy metal, shod with crim- son velvet, one reaches the elevator. This pretty enclosure of iron and glass of ciassic dctail in the period of Henry I, of Circassian walnut trim, with crotch pan- els, has more the aspect of boudoir than elevator. The deep seat is of wainut, up- holstered with fat cushions of crimson velvet edged in dull goid galloon. Over the seat is a mirror cut into small squares by wooden muntins. At each side are electric candies softened by red silk shades. One's last view before the door closes noiselessly is of a bay window op- posite, set with cathedral glass casement lights, which sheds soft colors upon the hall bench of carven stone and upon che tessellated floor. The door to the Higbee domain is of polished mahogany, set between lights of antique verte Italian glass, and bearing an ancient brass knocker. From the re- ception room, with its walls of green em- pire stik, one passes through & foyer ball, of Cordova leather hangings, to the drawing-room with its three broad windows. Opposite the entrance to superb room is a mantel of carved Caen stone, faced with golden Favanazza marble, with old Roman and- irons of gold ending in the fleur-de-lis. The walls are hung“With blue Floren- tine sitk, embossed in sflver. Beyond a bronze grill is the music-room, a library done in Austrian oak with stained burlap paneled by dull-forged nail tory, a billlard-room, a smoking-room. This latter has walls of red damask and a mantel with “Post Tenebras Lux” cut into one of its marble panels—a legend which the worthy lessee o. this endor is wont often to glance with re- spectful interest. The admirable host—if one be broad- minded—is now in the drawing-room, sec- onding his worthy wife and pretty daugh- ter who welcome the dinner guests. For a man who has a fad for ham and doesn’t care who knows it, his bearing is we have a right to expect that it 4 be. Among the group or arrivals, of his own sort. he is speaking of e ever-snifting fashion In beards, to the evangel of a Texas ofl neld who flaunts to the world one of those heavy mus- taches spuriously extended below the cor- of the mouth by means of the chin- growth of hair. Another, a worthy tribes- man from Snobomish, Washington, wears a beard which, for a score of years has been let 1o be its own tgue self: to ex- press, fearlessly, its own unique capacity for variation from type. These two have ed their host upon his modishly trimmed sidewhiskers. “You're right,” says Mr. Higbee, amia- ‘T aln’t stuck any myself on this way & up & m™an’'s face, but the will have it this wav—says it nore refined and New Yorky. And you know, ever since I've wore is way—ever since 1 had ‘em scraped from around under my neck here - Florida every winter. January I get bron- every blamed year Two of the guests only are alien to the ric throng There is the Palliac, decorated, reserved, observant— almost wistf:l. For the moment he is picturing dutifully the luxuries a certain marriage would enable him to procure for his noble father and his aged mother, who await lae news of his quest for the goiden flecce. For the Baron contem- plates, after the fashion of many econ- gcientious explorers, a marriage with a native woman; though he permits himself to cherieh the hope that it may not be conditioned upon his adopting the man- ners and customs of the particular tribe that he means to honor. Monsieur the Baron has long since been obliged to con- fess that a stitable mesalliance is none too easy of achlevement, and, in testi- mony of his vicissitudes, he has written for a Paris comic paper a series of grimly essays upon New .ork society. Recently, moreover, he has been upon the verge of accepting employment in the candy factory of a . urgeois compagriot But hope bas a little revived in the hoble breast since chance brought him and his title under the scrutiny of the bewitching Miss Millicent Higbee and her apprecia- tive mother. And to-night there is mnot only the pretty Miss Higbee, bt the winning Miss Bines, whose dot, the baron has been led to understand, would permit his be- loved father unlimited piquet at his club, to say nothing of regenerating the family chateau. Yet these are hardly matters to be gossiped of. It is enough to know that the Baron Ronault de Palliac, when he discovers himself at table between Miss Bines and the adorable Miss Hig- bee, becomes less saturnine than has for some time been his wont. He does not forget previous disappointments, but des- perately snaps his swarthy jaws in com- mendable superiority to any adverse fate. “Je ne donne pas yn damn,” he says to himself, and translates, as was his practice, to better his English—"I do not present a damn. I shall take what it is that it may be. The noble Baron de Palliac at this feast of the tribesmen was like the cap- tive patrician of old led In chains that galled. The other alien, Launton Old- aker, was present under terms of honor- able truce, willingly and without ulterior motive saving—as he confessed to him- self—a eonsuming desire to see “how the other half lives.” He was no louger the hunted and dismayed being Percival had met in that far-off and impossible Mon- tzng; but was now untroubled, remem- bering, it is true, that this *‘siumming expedition,” as he termed it, had taken him beyond the recognized bounds of his beloved New York, but serene in the con- eciousness that half en hour's drive would land him safely back at his club. Oldaker observed Miss Psyche Bines approvingly. “We are so glad to be in New York!" she had confided to him, sitting at her right. “My dear young woman,” he warned her, “you haven't reached New York yet.” The talk being general and loud, he ventured further. “This is Pittsburg, Chicago, Kansas City, Denver—almost anything but New York.” “Of course I know these arc not the swell old families.” Oldaker sipped his glass of old Oloroso sherry and discoursed. “And our prominent families, the ones whose names you read, are not New York any more, either. They are rather London and Paris. Their furniture, cloth- ing, plate, pictures, and servants come from one or the other. Yes, and their manners, too, their interests and sym- pathies and concerns, thelr fashions—and —sometimes, their—er—morals. They are assuredly not New York any more than Gobelin tapestries and Fortuny pictures und Louis Seize chairs are New York.” noble Baron Ronault de eagerly satiric “How queerly you talk. York, then?" Oldaker sighed thoughtfully between two spoonfuls of tortue verte, claire. Well, I suppose the truth is that there isn't much of New York left in New York. As a matter of fact I think it died with the old Volunteer Fire Department. Anyway the surviving remnant is coy. Real old New Yorkers like myself —neither poo= nor rich—are swamped in these days like those prehistoric animals whose bones we find. There comes a time when we can't live, and deposits form over us and we're lost even to memor; But this talk was even harder for Miss Bines to understand than the English speech of the Baron Ronault de Palliac, and she turned to that noble gentleman as the turbot with sauce Corail was served The dining-room, its wall wainscotted from floor to celiing in Spanish oak, was flooded with soft light from the red silk dome that depended from its crown of gold above the table. The laughter and talk were as little subdued as the scheme of the rooms. It was an atmosphere of prodigal and confident opulence. From the music-room near by came the soft strains of a Haydn quartet. exquisitely performed by finished and expensive artists. “Say, Higbee!" It was the oil chief from ee if them fiddlers of yours can’t a Honolulu Lalu! ™ Oldaker, wincing and turning to apathyd heard her say: r. Higbee! 1 do love those ragtime songs—and, then have them play ‘Tell Me, Pretty Maiden,’ and the ‘Inter- mezzo." " He groaned in anguish. The talk ran mostly on practical affairs; the current value of the great staple com- modities; why the corn crop had been light: what wheat promised to bring how young Burman of \the Chicago Board of Trade had been pinched in his own wheat corner for four millions—*put up" by his admiring father; what beef on the hoof commanded; how the Federal Oil Company would presently own the State of Texas. Almost every Barbarian atsthe table had made his own fortune. Hardly one but could recall early days when he toiled on farm or in shop or forest, herded cat- tle, prospected, sought adventure in re- mote and hazardous wilds. *'Tain’t much like them old days, eh Higbee?" queried the Crown Prince of Cripple Creek—"when you and me had to walk from Chicago to Green Bay, Wiscon- sin, because we didn’t have enough shil- lings for stage fare?” He gazed about him suggestively. “Cornbeef and cabbage was pretty good then, eh?” and with sure, vigorous strokes he fell to demolishing his filet de dinde a' la Perigueux, while a butler re- filled his glass with Chateau Malescot, 1878 ““Well, it does beat the two rooms the madam and me started to keep house in when we was married,”” admitted the host. “That was on the banks of the Chicago River. and now we got the Hud- son flowin’ right through the front yard, vou might say, right past our own yacht- landing.” From old days of work and hardship they came to s the present and their immediate sundings, soclal and financial Their daughters, it appeared. were be- ing sought in marriage by the sons of t among whom they sojourned. “Oh, they're a nice band of hand-shak- ers, all right, all right,” asserted the gen- tleman from Kansas ( “One of 'em tried to keep company with eur Caroline, but I wouldn't stand for it. He was a crackin’' good shinny player, and he could lead them cotillon dances blowin' a whis tle and callin’, ‘All right, Up! or some- thing, llke a car-starter—but, “Tell me something good about him.' 1 says to an old friend of his family. Well, he hemmed and hawed—he was a New York gentle- man, and says he, ‘I don’t know whether 1 could make you understand or not,’ he says, ‘but he’s got family,’ jest like that, bearin' down hard on you've got money,’ he sa and family need each other badly in town,’ he say: ‘Yes," says 1, ‘I met with a number of people here,’ 1 says, ‘but 1 ain’t met none yet that you'd have to blindfold and back into a lot of money 1 says, ‘family or no family,’ I says. ‘And that young man,’ he sa E nt, charming fellow; why,’ h 3 9 Lest-coated man in New York. looked at him and 1 says, ‘Well,’ s ‘be may be the best-coated man in N York, but he’ll be the best-booted man in New York, too,” 1 says, ‘if he comes around trying to spark Caroline any mo —or would be if 1 had my way. His chin pushed too far back und 3 says, ‘and besides,” | says ing walted on by mer, a good steady young fellow trav out of litle old K. C.,’ I says, ‘and while he ain’t much for fami'ly,’ 1 says, ‘he’ll have one of his own before he gets through,’ I says; ‘we start families where I come from,’' I says.” “Good boy! Good for you,” cheered the self-made Barbarians, and drank success to the absent disseminator of hardware. With much loud talk of this unedifying character the dinner progressed to an end; through selle d'agneau, floated in "84 champagne, terrapin convoyed by a spe- clal Madeira of 1850, and canvasback duck with Komanee Conti, 1865, to a triumpnant finale of Turkish coffee and 1811 bran After dinner the ladies gossiped of New York society, while the barbaric males smoked thelr big olly cigars and bandied reminiscences. Higbee showed them through cvery one of the apartment's twenty-two rooms, from recep laundry, manipuiating the tc with the skill of a stage The evening ended with a cakewaik, for the musical artists had by rare wines been mellowed from their classic reserve into a mood of ragtime abandon. And if Monsleur the Baron with his ceremonious grace was less exuberant than the Crown Prince of Cripple Creek, who sang as he stepped the sensuous measure, his pleas- ure was not less. He joyed to observe that these men of incredible millions had no hauteur. “'I do not,” wrote the Baron to his noble father the Marquis, that night, “yet un- derstand their joke; why snouid it be droll to wish that the man whose coat is of the best should also wear boots of the best? but as for what they call une promenade de gateau, 1 find it yery en- joyable. I bave met a Mlle. Bines to whom I shall at once pay my addresses. Unlike Mlle. Higbee, she has not the father from Chicago nor elsewhere. Quel diable d’homme!"” CHAPTER XVII THE PATRICIANS E. JERTAIN. Where is Jpw Miss dware drum- lights To reward the enduring who read po- litely through the garish revel of the preceding chapter, covers for fourteen are now laid with correct and tasteful quietness at the sophisticated board of that fine old New York family, the Mil- breys. Shaded candies leave ail but the glowing tal.e in a gloom discresily pleas- ant. One need not look so high as the old-fashioned stuccoed ceiling. The fam- THE SUNDAY CALL. ily portraits tone agreeably into the half- light of the walls; the huge old-fashioned walnut sideboard, soberly ornate with its mirrors, its white marble top and its wood-carved fruit, towers majestically aloft in proud seorn of the frivolous Chippendale fad. Jarvis, the accomplished and incompar- able butler, would be subdued and schol- arly looking but for the flagrant scandal of his port-wine nose. He gives finishing little filllps to the white chrysanthemums massed in the central epergne on the long silver plateau, and bestows a last cautious survey upon the cut-glass and silver radiating over the dull white damask. Finding the table and Its appointments faultless, he assures himself once more that the sherry will come on irreproach- ably at a temperature of 60 degrees; that the Burgundy will not fall below 65 nor wount above 70; for Jarvis wots of a pal- ate so acutely sensitive that it never fails to record a variation of so much as one degrce from the approved standard of temperature, How restful this quiet and reserve after the color and line tumult of the Higbee apartment. There the flush and bloom of newness were oppressive to the right- minded. All smelt of the shop. Here the dull tones and decorous lines caress and soothe instead of overwhelming the im- agination with effects too grossly literal. Here is the veritable spirit of good form. Throughout the house this contrast might be noted. It is the brown-stone, high-stoop house, guarded by a cast-iron fence, built in vast numbers when the world of fashion moved north to Murray Hill and Fifth avenue a generation ago. One of these houses was like all the others ingide and out, built of unimagina- tive “builder’s architecture.” The hall, the long parlor, the back parlor or li- brary, the high stuccoed ceilings—not only were these alike in all the houses, but the furnishings, too, were apt to be of a sameness in them all, rather heavy and tasteless, but serving the ends that such things should be meant to serve, and never flamboyant. Of these relics of a simpler day not many survive to us, save in the shameful degeneracy’ of boarding- houses. But in such as are left, we may confidently expect to find the traditions of that more dignified time kept unsullied— to find, indeed, as we find In the house of Milbrey, a settled alr of gloom that sug- gests insolvent but stubbornly determined exclusiveness. Something of this air, too, may be noticed in the surviving tenants of these austere relics. Yet it would hardly be observed in this house on this night, for not oniy do arriving guests bring the aro- ma of a later prosperity, but the hearts of our host and hostess beat high with a new hope. For the fair and sometimes uncertain daughter of the house of Mil- brey, after many ominous mutterings, de- lays, and frank rebellions, has declared at last her readiness to be a credit to her training by conferring her family pres- tige, distinction of manner and charms of person upon one equipped for their suita- ble maintenance. Already her imaginative father is rav- ishing in fancy the moldiest wine-cellars of Continental Europe. Already the fond mother has idealized a house in “Million aire’'s Row,” east of the park, where there will be twenty servants instead of three, and there shall cease that gnawing worry lest the treacherous north-setting current sweep them west of the park into one of those hideously new apartment houses, where the halls are done in mar- ble that scems to have been sliced from a huge Roguefort cheese, and where one must vie, perhaps, with a shopkeeper for the favors of an irreverent and material- istic janitor. The young woman herself entertains private a state of mind which she has no intention of making public. It is enough, she reasons, that her action should outwardly accord with the best traditions of her class; and, indeed, her family would never dream of demanding more. Her gown to-night is of orchard green, trimmed wis apple blossoms, a single pink spray of them caught in her hair. The rounding, satin grace of her slender rms, ing to the opal-tipped fingers, e exquisite line from ear to shoulder strap, the melting ripeness of her chin and throat, the tender pink and white of her fine skin, the capricious, inciting tlit of her small head, the dainty lift of her short nose—these allurements she has in- ventoried with a calculating and satisfied eye. She is glad to believe that there is every reason why it will soon be over. And since the whole loaf is notoriously better than a half, here is the engaging son of the house, also firmly bent upon the high emprise of matrimony; hand- some, with the chin, it may be, slightly receding; but an excellent leader of co- tillons, a surpassing polo player, clever, winning and dressed with an effect that has long made him remarked in polite circles, , which no mere money can achieve. Money, indeed, if certain fll- natured gossip of tradesmen be true, has been an inconsiderable factor in the en- compassment of this sartorial distinction. He waits now, eager for a first glimpse of the young woman whose charms, even by report, have already won the hest de- votion he has to give. A grievous error it is to suppose that Cupid's artillery is limited to bow and arrow. And now, instead of the rude commer- cial horde that lavghed loudly and ate uncouthly at the board of the barbarian, we shall sit at table with people horn to the only menner said to be worth pos- sessing—If we except, indeed, the visiting tribe of Bines, who may be relicd upon, hfiwever, to behave at least unobtrusively. As a contrast to the oppressively West. ern matron from Kansas City, here |s Mistress Fidelia Oldaker on the arm of her attentive son. She would be very oid but for thegeircumstance that she began carly in 1if€ to be a belle, and age cannot stale such women. Brought up with boara at her back, books on her head, to guard her complexion as if it were her fair name, to be diligent at harp practice and conscientious with the dancing master, she is almost the last of a school that nursed but the single aig of subjugating man. To-night, at seventy-something, she is a bit of pink bisque fragllity, bubbling tirelessly with reminiscence, her \'ivucll; unimpaired, her energy amazing and her coquetry faultless. From which we should learn, and be grateful therefor, that when a girl is brought up in the way she ought to gb she will never be able to dew part from it. Here also is Cornelia Van Geist, b ter of our admirable hostess—seniet” ¢ a gentleman who had been first or second cousin to half the people in society it were really desirable to know. and whose taste in wines, dinners and sports had been widely praised at his death by those who had had the fortune 10 be numbered among his friends, Mrs, Van Gelst has a kind, shrewd face, and her hair, which turned prematurely gray Wwhile she was yet a wife, gives her a 100k of age that her actual years belie Here, too, is Rulon Shepler, the money- god, his large, round head turning upon his immense shoulders without the aid of a neck—sharp-eyed, grizzled, fifty, short of stature, and with as few illusions con- cerning life as the New York financier is apt to retain at his age. 1t we be forced to walt for another guest of note, it is hardly more than her due; for Mrs. Gwilt-Athelstan is truly a personage, and the best people on more than one continent do not become unduly provoked at being made to wait for her. Those less than the very best frankly esteem it a privilege. Yet the great lady is not careless of engagements, and the wait iIs never prolonged. Mrs. Milbrey has time to say to her sister, “Yes, we think it's going; and really, it will do very well, you know. The girl has had some nonsense in her mind for a year past—none of us can tell what—but now she seems actually sensible, and she's promised to accept when the chap pro- poses.” But there's time for no more gossip. The belated guest arrives, enveloped in a vast cloak, and accompanied by her two nephews, whom Percival Bines rec- ognizes for the solemn and taciturn young men he had met in Shepler's party at the mine. Mrs. Gwilt-Athelstan, albeit a decora- tive personality, is constructed on the same broad and generously graceful lines as her own victoria. The great lady has not only two chins, but what any fair- minded observer would accept as suffi- clent promise of a good third. Yet hardly could a slighter person display to advan- tage the famous Gwilt-Athelstan jewels. The rope of pierced diamonds with pigeon-blood rubles strung between them, which she wears wound over her cor- sage, would assuredly overweight the frail Fidelia Oldaker; the tiara of emer- alds and dlamonds was never meant for a brow less majestic; nor would the stomacher of lustrous gray pearls and glinting dlamonds ever have clasped be- comingly a flgure that was svelte—or “skinny,” as the great lady herself Is frank enough to term all persons even re- motely inclined to be svelte. But let us sit and enliven a proper din- ner with talk upon topics of legitimate interest and genuine propriety. Here will be no discussion of the vulgar matter of markets, staples and prices, such as we perforce endured through the overwined and too-abundant repast of Higbee. Instead of learning what beef on the hoof brings per hun, dred-weight, f. o. b. at Cheyenne, W& shall here glean at once the invaluable fact that while good soclety in London used to be limited to those who had been presented at court, the presentations have now become so numerous that the limita- tion has lost its significance. Mrs. Gwlit- Athelstan thus discloses, as if it were a trifle, something we should never learn at the table of Higbee though we ate his heavy dinners to the day of ultimate chaos. And while we learned at that dis- tressingly new table that one should keep one' heifers and sell off one's steer calves, we never should have been informed there that Dinard had just enjoyed the gayest season of its history under the patron- age of this enterprising American; nor that Ladv de Muzzy had opened a tea- room in Grafton street, and Cynthia, Marchioness of Angleberry, a beauty im- provement parlor on the Strand “because she needs the money." “Lots of 'em takin' to trade nowadays; it'’s a smart sayin' there now that all the peers are marryin' actresses and all the peeresses goin' into business.” Mrs. Gwilt-Athelstan nodded little shocks of brilllance from her tlara and hungrily speared another oyster. “Only trouble is, it's such rotten hard work collectin’ bills from their intimate friends; they simply won't pay.” Nor at the barbaric Higbee's should we have been vouchsafed, to treasure for our own, the knowledge that Mrs. Gwiit- Athelstan had merely run over for the cup fortnight, meaning to return directly to her daughter, Katharine, Duchess of Blanchmere, in time for the Melton Mow- bray hunting season: nor that she had been rather taken by the new way of country life among us. and so tempted to protract her gracious sojourn. “Really,” she admits, “‘we're comin’ to do the right thing over here; a few years were all we needed. Hardly a town house to be opened before Thanksgivin’, I un- derstand; and down at the Hills some of the houses will stay open all winter. It's coachin’, ridin’ and golf and auto racin’ and polo and squash; really the young folks don’t go in at all except to dance and eat: and it's quite right, you know. It's quite decently English now. Why, at rris Park the other day, the crowd on the lawn looked quite itke Ascot ac- tually.” Nor could we have learned in the hos- tile camp the current gossip of Tuxedo, ueadowbrook, Lenox, Morristown and Ardsley; of the mishap of Mrs. “Jimmie" Whettin, twice unseated at a recent meet; of the woman's championship tourna. ment at Chatsworth; or the good points of the new runner-un at Baltusrol, daily to be seen on the links. Where we might incur knowledge of Beaumont “gusher” or Pittsburg mill we shouid never have discovered that teas and receptions are really falling into disrepute; that a series of dinner dances will be organized by the mothers of dehutantes to bring them for- ward; and that big subscription balls are in disfavor, since they benefit no one but the caterers who serve poor suppers and bad champagne. ilt-Athelstan takes only Scotch whisky and soda. “But I'm glad,” she confides to Horace Miibrey on her left, “that you haven't got to followin' this fad of havin' one wine at dinner; 1 know it's English, but it's down- right shoddy.” Her host's eves swam with gratitude for this appreciation. I stick to my peg,” she continued; “but 1 like to see a Chablis with the oysters and good dry sherry with the soup, and a Moselle with the fieh, and then you're ready to be livened with a bit of cham- pugne for the roast and steadied a_bit by Burgundy with the game. Phim sticks to it, too: tells me my peg Is downright encouragement to the bacteria. But I tell him I've no quarrel with my bacteria. ‘Live and let live’ is my motto, I teil him —and if the microbes and I both like Scotch and soda, why, what harm. I'm forty-two and not 80 much of a fool that I ain’t a little bit of a physician. I know my stomach, I tell him."” “What about these Western people?” she asked Oldaker at her other side, after a little, “Decent, unpretentious folk: new, but with loads of money “I've_heard how the breed’s stormin’ New York in droves; but they tell me zome of us need the money." “I dined with one last night, a sugar- cured ham magnate from Chicago.” “Dear me! how shockin'!" “‘But they're good, whole-souled people.” ““And well-heeled—and that's what we need, it seems. Some of us been so busy bein’ well-familied that we've forgot to make money.” “It's a good thing, too. Nature has her own building laws about fortunes, When they get too skyscrapy she topples them over. These people with their thrifty hab- its would have all the money in time if their sons and daughters didn't marry aristocrats with expensive tastes who know how to be spenders. Nature keeps things fairly even, one way or another.” “You're thinkin' about Kitty and the Duke.” “No, not then I wasn't, “though that's somewhat one of the class I mean. I wi “Well, my grandfather made-the best barrels in New York, and I'm mother-in- law of a chap whose ancestors for 350 years haven't done a stroke of work; but he’s the Duke of Blanchmere, and I hope our friends here will come as near gettin’ the worth of their money as we did. And it that chap”—she glanced at Percival— “marries a certain young woman, he'll never have a dull moment. I'd vouch for ;hl I'm quite sure she's the devil in ‘And if the yellow-haired girl marries the fellow next her—'" “He might do worse.” “Yes, but might she? He's already do- ing worse, and he'll keep on doing it, even if -he does marry her.” ‘‘Nonsense—about that, you know; all rot! What can you expect of these chaps? So does the Duke do worse, but you'll never hear Kitty complain so long as he lets her alone and she can wear the strawberry leaves. I fancy I'll have those young ones down to the Hills for Hal- lowe'en and the week-end. Might as well help 'em along.” At the other end of the table, the fine old ivory of her cheeks gently suffused with pink until they looked like slightly crumpled leaves of a la France rose, Mrs. Oldaker was flirting brazenly with 8hep- ler, and prattling impartially to him and to one of the twin nephews of old days in soclal New York; of a time when the world of fashion occupled a little space at the Battery and along Broadway; of its migration to the far north of Great Jones street, St. Mark’s place and Sec- ond avenue. In Waverly place had been the flowering of her bellehood, and the day when her set moved on to Murray Hill was to her still recent and revolu- tionary. ¢ Between the solemn Angstead twins, Mre. Bines had sat in silence until by some happy chance it transpired tnat “horse” was the word to unlock her lips. As Mrs. Bines knew all about horses the twins at once became voluble, showing her marked attention. The twins were notably devoid of prejudice if your sym- pathles happened to run with theirs. Miss Bines and young Milbrey were al- ready on excellent terms Percival and Miss Milbrey, on the other hand, were doing badly. Some disturbing element seemed to have put them aloof. Miss Milbrey wondered somewhat, but her mind was easy, for her resolution had been taken. Mrs. Gwilt-Athelstan extended her in- vitation to the young people, who accept- ed joytully. “Come down and camp with us, and heip Phim keep the batteries of his autos run out. You know they deteriorate when they're left half-charged, and it's one of the cares of his life to see to the whole six of 'em when they come in. He gets in one and the men get in the others, and he leads a solemn parade around the stables until they've been run out. Tell me the leisure class isn’t a hard-workin’ class, now.” Over coffee and chartreuse in the draw- ing-room there was more general talk of money and marriage, and of one for the other. “And so he married money,” concluded Mrs. Gwilt-Athelstan of one they had discussed. ““Happy marriage!" Shepler called out. ©; money talks! and this time, on my word, now, it made you want to put on those thick sealskin earmuffs. Poor chap. and he'd been talkin' to me about the monotony of married life. ‘Monoto- ny, my boy,’ I sald to him, ‘you don't know lovely woman!" and now he wishes Jolly well that he’d not done it, you know."” Here, too, was earned Bines a reputation for wit that she was never able quite to destroy. There had been talk of a banquet to a visiting celebrity the night before, for which the menu was one of unusual costliness. Mr. Milbrey had dwelt with feeling upon certain of its eminent ex- cellences, such as loin of young bear, a la Granville, and the boned quail, stuffed with goose livers. N “Really,” he concluded, “from an artis- tic standpoint, although large dinners are apt to be slurred and slighted, it was a certain creation of undoubted worth.” “And the orchestra,” spoke up Mrs. Bines, who had read of the banquet, “played ‘Hail to the Chef!” The laughter at this sally was all it should have been, even the host joining in it. Only two of those present knew that the good woman had been warned nat to call “chef” ‘“chlef,” as Silas Hig- bee did. The fact that neither should ‘“‘chief” be called “chef” was impressed upon her later, in & way to make her re- solve ever again to eschew both of the troublesome word: When the guests had gone Miss Milbrey received the praise of both parents for her Dblameless attitude toward young Bines. “It will be fixed when we come back from Wheatly,” said the knowing young woman, “and now don't worry any more about it. '3 ““And, Fred,” said the mother, “do keep straijght down there. She's a common- place girl, with lots of mannerisms to un- learn, but she’'s pretty and sweet and teachable,” “And sHe’ll learn a lot from Fred that she doesn't know now,” finished that young man's sister from the foot of the stalrway. Back at their hotel Psyche Bines was saying: “Isn’t it queer about Mrs. Gwilt-Athel- stan? We've read so much about her in the papers. I thought she must be some one awful to meet—I was that scared—and instead, she's llke any one, and real chummy besides: and, actually, ma. don't Yyou think her dress was dowdy—all ex- cept the diamonds? T suppose that comes from living in England so much. And hasn't Mrs. Milbrey twice as grand a manner, and the son—he's a precious—he knows everything and everybody; I'shall like him.” Her brother, who had flung himself into a cuskioned cornmer, spoke with the air of one who had reluctantly consented to be interviewed and who was anxious to be Quoted correctly: “Mrs. Gwlt-Athelstan is all right. She reminds me of what Uncle Peter writes about that new herd of short-horns: “This breed has a mild disposition. Is a good feeder and produces a fine quality o flesh.” But T'll tell you one thing, si he concluded with sudden emphasis, “with all this talk about marrying for money I'm beginning to feel as if you and | were a couple of white rabbits out in the open with ali the game laws off!” by Mrs. CHAPTER XVIIL Among sundry maxims and observa- tions of King Solomon, collated by the discerning men of Hezekiah, it will be re- called that the way of a mald is held up to wonder. “There be,” says the wise king, who composed a little In the crisp manner of Mr. Kipling, ‘“three things which are too wonderful for me; yea, four which 1 know not: the way of an eagle in the air: the way of a serpent upon a rock; the way of a ship In the midst of the sea, and the way of a man with a maid.” Why he ne@lected to Include the way of a maid with a man is not at once apparent. His unusual facilities for ob- servation must seemingly have inspired him to wonder at the maid's way even more than at the man’s; and wise men later than he have not hesitated to con- fess their entire lack of understanding in the matter. But if Solomon included this item in his summary, the men of Hezekiah omitted to report the fact, and by their chronicles we learn only that the woman “eateth and wipeth her mouth and saith, ‘I have done no wickedness.' " Perhaps it was Solomon's mischance to observe phenomena of this character too much in the mass. Miss Milbrev's way, at any .rate, with the man she had decided to marry, would undoubtedly have made more work for the unnamed Boswells of the king. could it have been brought to his notice. For, as she journeyed to the meeting- place on a.bright October afternoon, she confessed to herself that it was of a depth beyond her own fathoming. Loll- ing easlly back In the wicker chair of the car that bore her, and gazing idly out over the brown flelds and yellow forests of Long lsland as they swirled by her, she found herself wishing once that her eyes were made like those of a doll. She had lately discovered of one that when it appeared to fall asleep, it merely turned its eyes around to look Into its own head. With any lesser opportunity for intro- spection she felt that certain doubts as to her own motives and processes would remain forever unsolved. It was not that she could not say “I have done no wick- edness”; let us place this heroine in no false light. She was little concerned with the morality of her course as others might appraise it. The fault, if fault it be, is neither ours nor hers, and Mr. Darwin wrote a big book chiefly to prove that it isn't. From the force of her environment d heredity Miss Milbrey had debated imost exclusively her own chances of happiness under given conditions: and if she had, for a time, questioned the wis- dom of the obvious course, entirely from her own seifish standpoint, it is all that. and perhaps more than, we were justified fn expecting from her. Let her, then, cheat the reader of no sympathy that might flow to a heroine struggling for a high moral ideal. Merely is she clear- headed enough to have discovered that selfishness is not the thing of easy bonds it s reputed to be; that its delights are not certain; that one does not unerringly achieve happiness by the bare circum- stance of being uniformly selfish. Yet even this is a discovery not often made, nor one to be lightly esteemed: for have not the wise ones of church and state ever implied that the way of selfishness is a way of sure delight. to be shunned only because its joys endure not? So it may be, after all, no small merit we claim for this girl In that, trained to selfishness and certain course, she yet had the wit to suspect that its joys have been over-val- ued even by its professional enem It is no small merit, perhaps, even though, after due and selfish reflection, she deter~ mined upon the obvious course. If sometimes her heart was sick with the hunger to love and be loved by the one she loved, so that there were times ‘when she would have bartered the world for its plenary feeding, it is all that, we insist, and more, than could be expected of this sort of heroine. And so she had resolved upon surrender —upon an outward surrender. Inwardly she knew it to be not more than a capitu- lation under duress, whose terms would remain forever secret except to those clever at induction. And, now, as the train took her swiftly to her fate, she made the best of it. There would be a town house fit for her; a country house at Tuxedo or Lenox or Westbury; a thousand good acres with greeneries; a game preserve, trout pond and race course; a cottage at Newport; a place in Scotland; a house in London, perhaps. Then thefé would be jewels such as she had longed for. a portrait by Chartran. she thought. And there was the dazzling thought of going to Felix or Doucet with credit unlimited. And he—would the thought of him as it had always come to her keep on hurting with a hurt she could neither explain nor appease? Would he annoy her, enrage her perhaps, or even worse, tire her? He would be yery much in earnest, of course, and so few men could be in earnest grace- fully. But woulfj he be stupid enough to stay so? And not, would he become brutal? She.suspected he might have ca- pacities for that. Would she be able to hide all but her pleasant emotions from him—hide that want, the great want, to which she would have once done sacri- fice? Well, it was easier to try than not to try, and the sacrifice—one could always sacrifice if the need became imperative. But her troubled musings ended with her time alone. From a whirl over the crisp, firm macadam, tucked into one of Phimister Gwilt-Athelstan’s auto- mobiles with four other guests, with no less a person than her genial host for chauffeur, she was presently ushered into the great hall, where a huge log fire crackled welcome and where blew a lively little gale of tea chatter from a dozen people. Tea Miss Milbrey justly reckoned among the little sanitles of life. Her wrap doffed and her veil pushed up, she was in a moment restored to her normal ease, a part of the group, and making her part of the talk that touched the latest news from town, the flower show, automoblle show, Irving and Terry, the morning’s meet, the weekly musicale and dinner dance at the club; and at length upon certain mattés of marriage and di- vorce. - TConcluded Next Sunday.) e — DR. 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