aughter greeted
him. The Hayden house was a general rendezvous. There were usually,
by seven o'clock, whiskey-and-soda glasses and tea-cups on most of the
furniture, and half-smoked cigarets on everything that would hold them,
including the piano.

Marion herself met him in the hall, and led him past the drawing-room
door.

"There are people in every room who want to be left alone," she
volunteered. "I kept the library as long as I could. We can sit on the
stairs, if you like."

Which they proceeded to do, quite amiably. From various open doors came
subdued voices. The air was pungent with tobacco smoke permeated with a
faint scent of late afternoon highballs.

"Tommy!" Marion called, when she had settled herself.

"Yes," from a distance.

"Did you leave your cigaret on the piano?"

"No, Toots dear. But I can, easily."

"Mother," Marion explained, "is getting awfully touchy about the piano.
Well, do you remember half the pretty things you told me last night?"

"Not exactly. But I meant them."

He looked up at her admiringly. He was only a year from college, and
he had been rather arbitrarily limited to the debutantes. He found,
therefore, something rather flattering in the attention he was receiving
from a girl who had been out five years, and who was easily the most
popular young woman in the gayer set. It gave him a sense of maturity
Since the night before he had been rankling under a sense of youth.

"Was I pretty awful last night?" he asked.

"You were very interesting. And--I imagine--rather indiscreet."

"Fine! What did I say?"

"You boasted, my dear young friend."

"Great Scott! I must have been awful."

"About the new war contracts."

"Oh, business!"

"But I found it very interesting. You know, I like business. And I like
big figures. Poor people always do. Has it really gone through? I mean,
those things do slip up sometimes, don't they.

"It's gone through, all right. Signed, sealed, and delivered."

Encouraged by her interest, he elaborated on the new work. He even
developed an enthusiasm for it, to his own surprise. And the girl
listened intently, leaning forward so that her arm brushed his shoulder.
Her eyes, slightly narrowed, watched him closely. She knew every move of
the game she was determining to play.

Marion Hayden, at twenty-five, knew already what her little world had
not yet realized, that such beauty as she had had was the beauty of
youth only, and that that was going