e hazarded. "Madame Beattie?"

Andrea was really caught and quite evidently relieved, too, if Jeff
understood so well. He smiled again. His eyes took on their wonted
shining. Jeff, relying on Anne's and Lydia's delay, stayed not an
instant, but ran out of the side door and along to the front where
Madame Beattie, he knew, was making a stately progress, accepting
greetings in a magnificent calm. He got to the door as she did, and she
gave him the same royal recognition. She was dressed in black, her head
draped with lace, and she really did look a distinguished personage. But
Jeff was not to be put off with a mere greeting. He called her name.

"You may take me home," she said.

"I can't," said Jeff ruthlessly, when he had got her out of earshot.
"I'm going to carry things for Anne."

"No, you're not." She put her hand through his arm and leaned heavily
and luxuriously. "Good Lord, Jeff, why can't New Englanders dance like
those shoemakers' daughters? What is it in this climate that dries up
the blood?"

"Madame Beattie," said Jeff, "you've got to give away the game. You've
got to tell me how you've hypnotised every man Jack of those people
there to-night so they won't do a reasonable thing I ask 'em unless
they've had your permission."

"What do you want to do?" But she was pleased. There was somebody under
her foot.

"I want to rehearse some plays in English. And I gather from the leader
of the clan--"

"Andrea?"

"Yes, Andrea. They won't do it unless you tell them to."

"Of course they won't," said Madame Beattie.

"Then why won't they? What's your infernal spell?"

"It's the spell of the East. And you can't tempt them with anything that
comes out of the West."

"Their food comes out of the West," said Jeff, smarting.

"Oh, that! Well, that's about all you can give them. That's what they
come for."

"All of them? Good God!"

"Not good God at all. Don't you know what a man is led by? His belly.
But they don't all come for that. Some come for--" She laughed, a rather
cackling laugh.

"What?" Jeff asked her sternly. He shook her arm involuntarily.

"Freedom. That's talked about still. And a lot of demagogues like your
Weedon Moore get hold of 'em and debauch 'em and make 'em drunk."

"Drunk?"

"No, no. Not on liquor. Better if they did. But they tell 'em they're
gods and all they've got to do is to climb up on a throne and crown
themselves."

"Then why won't you," said Jeff, in wrath, "let me