ned a livelihood by his pen, he had been
relieved of the necessity of doing it by his ancestors' investments in
Harlem real estate.

Talcott looked perfectly inoffensive, and yet he had hardly been seated
before I conceived a profound aversion to him. Mrs. Bannister's
treatment of him did much to arouse it. Here, she seemed to say, is a
human being, a sentient creature with ideas in his head, a finished man
with an appreciation of the finer things of life. She asked him if he
was going to the Martin dance.

Mr. Talcott did not know--he might--he hadn't made up his mind.

"There will probably be a rather mixed crowd," he said, with his lips
twitching into a cynical smile.

Rufus Blight, who had moved to a chair by the fire, shook his head in
disapproval of mixed crowds, and Mrs. Bannister said that,
nevertheless, the Martins were getting along and certainly would get in.

"And sometimes, you know, mixed crowds are rather fun," said Talcott;
and turning to Penelope: "I suppose you are not going?"

"I certainly am," Penelope answered heartily. "I love dancing so."

"Well, I shall, then," said Talcott. "You see, I was up awfully late
at the Coles's last night--three o'clock when I left. Why did you go
so early? I looked for you everywhere. I rather thought I should lay
off to-night and rest up for a dinner, the opera, and the Grants
to-morrow evening. But I'll go to-night anyway. We'll get up a little
crowd of our own for supper. That's the thing about mixed crowds: at
least you can have your own little set for supper."

Having settled this problem and taken possession of Penelope for that
evening, Talcott went on to outline a jolly little plan of his to take
possession of her for an entire day in the near future--as soon as
there was skating at Tuxedo. Quite a large party were going up, Bobby
This and Willie That, to all of which Penelope assented, while Mrs.
Bannister laughed merrily. She understood that Bobby This was not
going anywhere this year. Between them they drove me quite mad. A
moment ago I had been so much at home; now I should have been more at
ease in a company of astronomers talking of the stars, though I knew
nothing of the heavens. I could only smile vaguely in a pretence of
entering into all that they were saying; and when Talcott looked at me,
when he pronounced his dictum that mixed crowds were a bore, I gave a
feeble assent. When, to make my presence felt, I boldly asserted tha