emarks and general support and protection. When the
concert was over she supplied them with further entertainment in the
form of several young men who had pliable backs and flashing breastpins
and whom she inarticulately introduced to them, which gave her still
more to do, as after this serious step she had to stay and watch all
parties. It was strange to Raymond to see her transformed by her mother
into a precocious duenna. Him she introduced to no young girl, and he
knew not whether to regard this as cold neglect or as high
consideration. If he had liked he might have taken it as a sweet
intimation that she knew he couldn't care for any girl but her.

On the whole he was glad, because it left him free--free to get hold of
her mother, which by this time he had boldly determined to do. The
conception was high, inasmuch as Cousin Maria's attention was obviously
required by the ambassadors and other grandees who had flocked to do her
homage. Nevertheless, while supper was going on (he wanted none, and
neither apparently did she), he collared her, as he phrased it to
himself, in just the right place--on the threshold of the conservatory.
She was flanked on either side with a foreigner of distinction, but he
didn't care for her foreigners now. Besides, a conservatory was meant
only for couples; it was a sign of her comprehensive sociability that
she should have been rambling among the palms and orchids with a double
escort. Her friends would wish to quit her but would not wish to appear
to give way to each other; and Raymond felt that he was relieving them
both (though he didn't care) when he asked her to be so good as to give
him a few minutes' conversation. He made her go back with him into the
conservatory: it was the only thing he had ever made her do, or probably
ever would. She began to talk about the great Gregorini--how it had been
too sweet of her to repeat one of her songs, when it had really been
understood in advance that repetitions were not expected. Raymond had no
interest at present in the great Gregorini. He asked Cousin Maria
vehemently if she remembered telling him in New York--that night at the
hotel, five years before--that when he should have followed them to
Paris he would be free to address her on the subject of Dora. She had
given him a promise that she would listen to him in this case, and now
he must keep her up to the mark. It was impossible to see her alone,
but, at whatever inconvenience to hers