ld mansion and poured out into the sidewalk
friends and acquaintances of the Goodchilds. On the dowagers' faces you
could see the smug self-congratulations that their daughters, thank
goodness, did not have to be wooed thus vulgarly to get into the
newspapers. And on the daughters the watching reporters saw smiles and
envious gleams of bright eyes. Why couldn't _they_ be thus desperately
wooed in public? To let the world know you were desired, to have a man
brave all the world in order to let the world know it! It was heroism!
And even more: it was great fun!

The dowagers went in to express both surprise and condolence to Mrs.
Goodchild. The girls rushed to Grace's boudoir to ask questions.

Mrs. Goodchild tried to brazen it out. Then she tried to treat it
humorously. But the dowagers called both bluffs. Then she foolishly told
them, "The poor young man is quite insane."

They chorused, "He must be!" with conviction--the conviction that she
was lying like a suburban boomer. Of course she paid him for the work.

Grace was in an unphilosophical frame of mind. H. R. had made her the
laughing-stock of New York. It would have been ridiculous if it were not
so serious to her social plans. She hated him! Being absolutely helpless
to help herself, her hatred embraced the world--the world that would
laugh at her! All the world! Particularly the women. Especially those of
her own age. They would laugh! This is the unforgivable sin in women
because their sense of humor is _minus_. And when they laugh--

Just then the avalanche of those she hated the most swooped down upon
her. Her eyes were red from acute aqueous mortification. They saw it.
They said in chorus, sorrowfully, "You poor thing!"

Who said the rich had no hearts? The girls had given to her poverty
without her asking for it. It always makes people charitable when they
create poverty unasked.

"I wouldn't stand it!" cried one.

"Nor I!" chorused fourteen of Grace's best friends.

Outside, the Avenue, for the first time in its dazzling history, was
blocked by automobiles. You would have sworn it was the shopping
district in the Christmas week. The reason was that the occupants of the
autos had told the chauffeurs to stop until they could read the
sandwiches.

The reporters were ringing the front-door bell and the rapid-fire
tintinnabulation was driving Frederick frantic. Mrs. Goodchild had told
him not to send for the police. The reporters, feeling treated lik