up at his host with such a grave and candid
expression that Eastman decided there couldn't be anything very
crooked about the fellow. His smooth cheeks were positively
cherubic.

"Well, what's the matter with them? Aren't they flashing to-night?"

"Only the very new ones seem to flash on New Year's eve. The older
ones fade away. Maybe they are hunting a chop, too."

"Well"--Eastman sat down--"holidays do dash one. I was just about to
write a letter to a pair of maiden aunts in my old home town,
up-state; old coasting hill, snow-covered pines, lights in the
church windows. That's what you've saved me from."

Cavenaugh shook himself. "Oh, I'm sure that wouldn't have been good
for you. Pardon me," he rose and took a photograph from the
bookcase, a handsome man in shooting clothes. "Dudley, isn't it? Did
you know him well?"

"Yes. An old friend. Terrible thing, wasn't it? I haven't got over
the jolt yet."

"His suicide? Yes, terrible! Did you know his wife?"

"Slightly. Well enough to admire her very much. She must be terribly
broken up. I wonder Dudley didn't think of that."

Cavenaugh replaced the photograph carefully, lit a cigarette, and
standing before the fire began to smoke. "Would you mind telling me
about him? I never met him, but of course I'd read a lot about him,
and I can't help feeling interested. It was a queer thing."

Eastman took out his cigar case and leaned back in his deep chair.
"In the days when I knew him best he hadn't any story, like the
happy nations. Everything was properly arranged for him before he
was born. He came into the world happy, healthy, clever, straight,
with the right sort of connections and the right kind of fortune,
neither too large nor too small. He helped to make the world an
agreeable place to live in until he was twenty-six. Then he married
as he should have married. His wife was a Californian, educated
abroad. Beautiful. You have seen her picture?"

Cavenaugh nodded. "Oh, many of them."

"She was interesting, too. Though she was distinctly a person of the
world, she had retained something, just enough of the large Western
manner. She had the habit of authority, of calling out a special
train if she needed it, of using all our ingenious mechanical
contrivances lightly and easily, without over-rating them. She and
Dudley knew how to live better than most people. Their house was the
most charming one I have ever known in New York. You felt freedom
there, and a ze