l the women invited (some of whom Mrs.
Holbein scarcely knew) only Lady Dauntrey and her house-party had
accepted, for word had gone forth from the Elect that, in good American
slang, the notorious Jew money-lender and his common wife were "the
limit." As for the girl, she did not count, except in cash. Now, when it
was too late, Mrs. Holbein desperately regretted that she had slighted
some of her old friends, who had once been good enough for her to know,
and who would have flocked to her dance gladly. There were plenty of
them scattered about between San Remo and Nice, who were at this moment
feeling aggrieved by the Holbeins' neglect. If only they had been
bidden, these contemptuously amused men would have had partners, even
though the list of names in the society papers might have excited some
derision. Mrs. Holbein had aimed high and overshot the mark. The result
was tragic. And though her vulgar nature, writhing in humiliation,
judged others by itself and believed all to be laughing maliciously,
there were some who could not laugh.

Vanno Della Robbia detested vulgar people, and had disliked the idea of
coming to the dance; but now that he was here, on their beautiful yacht,
he pitied the wretched Holbeins so intensely that he felt physically
ill. The man, with fiercely shining eyes and hawk nose, hunching up his
round shoulders as he clenched and unclenched his pudgy hands, deeply
hidden in his pockets, was horribly pathetic to Vanno, who tried not to
see the little bright beads that oozed out of the tight-skinned
forehead. Even more pathetic was the woman, blazing in 20,000
diamond-power, haggard under her rouged smile, her large uncovered back
and breast heaving, her fat, ungloved hands mere bunches of fingers and
rings. The girl did not so much matter. She was young and handsome, her
moustache as yet but the shadow of a coming event; and the affair was
not so tragic to her since she had the attention of Rongier and plenty
of other men. But Vanno had seen such faces and figures as those of Sam
Holbein and his wife in dusky shops at Constantine. They had been
happier and more at home there.

Disgustedly he knew that it comforted the woman to be talking with
Prince Giovanni Della Robbia, yet he gave the comfort and spread it
thickly for her by showing deference, listening patiently to desperate
boastings of her splendid possessions: her house in Park Lane, the
castle "Sam" had bought in Fifeshire. "I am a county