he had left waiting, and was off uptown to his dinner. He was only half
an hour late but his rudeness was punished, for he was placed between a
debutante and a dowager, and condemned for two mortal hours to endure
alternately insipid zephyrs and chilling blasts of small talk.
Stiff-backed chairs were there and stiff-backed people were in them.
Shaded candles threw a flickering light upon a mass of plate and
flowers, bonbons, almonds, fruit and glasses. Around the table was a
circle of bare necks and diamonds, white shirts and ties; and behind the
chairs solemn footmen silently moved from place to place passing the
endless courses. Some of the guests were bright and others solemn; some
brilliant and others stupid; but they were the component parts of a
fashionable dinner. There was a banker, a broker, a yachtsman, a
diplomat, a merchant, and a sprinkling of dawdling men of leisure, and
their wives, daughters, and cousins. The forks rattled and the tongues
clattered, while each strove to hide his inner nature behind an
effective pose. The clever succeeded and the stupid failed. Coffee was
brought; the women arose, a man or two sprawled beneath the table to
find some fan or glove, and then the women filed slowly out to gossip
and dissect their neighbors, and the men remained to drink and smoke and
drink again, while a ribald wag related some choice but scandalous tale,
and ardent sportsmen took sides in vain disputes about the "Poseidon's"
time allowance and "Salvador's" Suburban chances.

Duncan was moodily indisposed for banter or dispute. His buoyant and
careless spirit seldom deserted him, but this dinner only claimed his
presence because his senior partner was the host, and none of his
_intimes_ being there, he fell readily into a state of passive
ill-humor. He dosed over his glass of port, carelessly puffed his cigar
and occasionally proffered an opinion with a superior air incited by his
social ascendency over most of the men present. Duncan Grahame was a man
whose dominant characteristic was assurance, tempered only by an
intuitive knowledge of the social amenities. He was often bold but never
vulgar. He was rude in the manner of most society men, but his rudeness
was a pose prompted by the mannerisms of the age, and designed, as was
his coat, after the latest London model. He possessed the rare fortune
of being considered handsome both by men and women. His beauty was of
the vigorous type, which wins admiration b