vised everything that went forward. Laurie
Flagg coming to call upon her, on Wednesday afternoon, to remonstrate
upon her sudden defection, found her in the act of tacking up a curtain
across the pantry window.

But Blix had the afternoons and evenings almost entirely to herself.
These hours, heretofore taken up with functions and the discharge of
obligations, dragged not a little during the week that followed upon
her declaration of independence. Wednesday afternoon, however, was
warm and fine, and she went to the Park with Snooky. Without looking
for it or even expecting it, Blix came across a little Japanese
tea-house, or rather a tiny Japanese garden, set with almost toy
Japanese houses and pavilions, where tea was served and thin sweetish
wafers for five cents. Blix and Snooky went in. There was nobody
about but the Japanese serving woman. Snooky was in raptures, and Blix
spent a delightful half-hour there, drinking Japanese tea, and feeding
the wafers to the carp and gold-fish in the tiny pond immediately below
where she sat. A Chinaman, evidently of the merchant class, came in,
with a Chinese woman following. As he took his place and the Japanese
girl came up to get his order, Blix overheard him say in English:
"Bring tea for-um leddy."

"He had to speak in English to her," she whispered; "isn't that
splendid! Did you notice that, Snooky?"

On the way home Blix was wondering how she should pass her evening.
She was to have made one of a theatre party where Jack Carter was to be
present. Then she suddenly remembered "Morrowbie Jukes," "The Return
of Imri," and "Krishna Mulvaney." She continued on past her home,
downtown, and returned late for supper with "Plain Tales" and "Many
Inventions."

Toward half-past eight there came a titter of the electric bell. At
the moment Blix was in the upper chamber of the house of Suddhoo,
quaking with exquisite horror at the Seal-cutter's magic. She looked
up quickly as the bell rang. It was not Condy Rivers' touch. She
swiftly reflected that it was Wednesday night, and that she might
probably expect Frank Catlin. He was a fair specimen of the Younger
Set, a sort of modified Jack Carter, and called upon her about once a
fortnight. No doubt he would hint darkly as to his riotous living
during the past few days and refer to his diet of bromo-seltzers. He
would be slangy, familiar, call her by her first name as many times as
he dared, discuss the last dance of t