table by himself and watching their
party intently. At Amory's glance he smiled faintly. Amory turned to
Fred, who was just sitting down.

"Who's that pale fool watching us?" he complained indignantly.

"Where?" cried Sloane. "We'll have him thrown out!" He rose to his feet
and swayed back and forth, clinging to his chair. "Where is he?"

Axia and Phoebe suddenly leaned and whispered to each other across the
table, and before Amory realized it they found themselves on their way
to the door.

"Where now?"

"Up to the flat," suggested Phoebe. "We've got brandy and fizz--and
everything's slow down here to-night."

Amory considered quickly. He hadn't been drinking, and decided that if
he took no more, it would be reasonably discreet for him to trot along
in the party. In fact, it would be, perhaps, the thing to do in order to
keep an eye on Sloane, who was not in a state to do his own thinking. So
he took Axia's arm and, piling intimately into a taxicab, they drove out
over the hundreds and drew up at a tall, white-stone apartment-house.
... Never would he forget that street.... It was a broad street, lined
on both sides with just such tall, white-stone buildings, dotted with
dark windows; they stretched along as far as the eye could see, flooded
with a bright moonlight that gave them a calcium pallor. He imagined
each one to have an elevator and a colored hall-boy and a key-rack; each
one to be eight stories high and full of three and four room suites. He
was rather glad to walk into the cheeriness of Phoebe's living-room and
sink onto a sofa, while the girls went rummaging for food.

"Phoebe's great stuff," confided Sloane, sotto voce.

"I'm only going to stay half an hour," Amory said sternly. He wondered
if it sounded priggish.

"Hell y' say," protested Sloane. "We're here now--don't le's rush."

"I don't like this place," Amory said sulkily, "and I don't want any
food."

Phoebe reappeared with sandwiches, brandy bottle, siphon, and four
glasses.

"Amory, pour 'em out," she said, "and we'll drink to Fred Sloane, who
has a rare, distinguished edge."

"Yes," said Axia, coming in, "and Amory. I like Amory." She sat down
beside him and laid her yellow head on his shoulder.

"I'll pour," said Sloane; "you use siphon, Phoebe."

They filled the tray with glasses.

"Ready, here she goes!"

Amory hesitated, glass in hand.

There was a minute while temptation crept over him like a warm wind,
and his imagi