what-for, and everybody was delighted. The two were devoted enemies
from then on, and it was beautiful to see them come together.

Lady Clifton-Wyatt followed Polly up the receiving line to-night and
invited a duel, but Polly was in no humor for a fight with anybody but
Germans. She turned her full-orbed back on Lady C.-W. and, so to
speak, gnashed her shoulder-blades at her. Lady C.-W. passed by
without a word, and Marie Louise was glad to hide behind Polly, for
Marie Louise was mortally afraid of Lady C.-W.

She saw the American greet her as if he had met her before. Lady
Clifton-Wyatt was positively polite to him. He must be a very great
man.

She heard Lady Clifton-Wyatt say something about, "How is the new ship
coming on?" and the American said, "She's doing as well as could be
expected."

So he was a ship-builder. Marie Louise thought that his must be a
heartbreaking business in these days when ships were being slaughtered
in such numbers. She asked Polly and her husband if they knew him or
his name.

Widdicombe shook his head. Polly laughed at her husband. "How do you
know? He might be your own mother, for all you can tell. Put on your
distance-glasses, you poor fish." She turned to Marie Louise. "You
know how near-sighted Tom is."

"An excellent fault in a man," said Marie Louise.

"Oh, I don't know," said Polly. "You can't trust even the blind ones.
And you'll notice that when Tom comes to one of these decollete
dinners, he wears his reading-glasses."

All this time Widdicombe was taking out his distance-glasses,
taking off his reading-glasses and pouching them and putting them
away, and putting on his distance-glasses, and from force of habit
putting their pouch away. Then he stared at Davidge, took off his
distance-glasses, found the case with difficulty, put them up,
pocketed them, and stood blearing into space while he searched for
his reading-glasses, found them, put the case back in his pocket and
saddled his nose with the lenses.

Polly waited in a mockery of patience and said:

"Well, after all that, what?"

"I don't know him," said Widdicombe.

It was a good deal of an anticlimax to so much work.

Polly said: "That proves nothing. Tom's got a near-memory, too. The
man's a pest. If he didn't make so much money, I'd abandon him on a
door-step."

That was Polly's form of baby-talk. Everybody knew how she doted
on Tom: she called him names as one scolds a pet dog. Widdicombe had
the h