is contempt. He merely withdrew from public
life. As for recompense--surely you would not think of asking me to
accept it from such a source! Never! Besides, I have more than enough.
Several years ago I disposed of our mineral holdings, bought back the
old Hollister mansion, and I am now living there in as much comfort as
poor Lee could have wished me to enjoy. What could Gordon's money add to
that?"

If I'd been J. Bayard, hanged if I wouldn't called it quits right there!
But he's gettin' so chesty over this job of sunshine distributer that
there's no holdin' him in.

"Surely, Alice," he insists, "there must be some way in which I,
as--er--an old friend, might----"

Mrs. Hollister cuts him off with a wave of her hand. "You don't
understand," says she. "I am no longer the vain, frivolous young girl
whom you knew that winter in Chicago. My first season, that was. I was
being lavishly entertained. I suppose I became dazzled by it all,--the
attention, the new scenes, the many men I met. I've no doubt I behaved
very silly. But now--well, I have realized all my social ambitions. Now
I am devoting my life to the memory of my sainted husband, to charity,
to our dear church."

I gawps curious over at J. Bayard to see what comeback he has to this
dose of mush, and finds him starin' foolish at her.

"There is only one thing----" she begins.

"Yes?" says Steele, kind of faint. "Something in which we might----"

"I am interested in a group of girls," says she, "factory girls; one of
our Guild Mission classes, you know. They have been anxious to have some
dances. Now I am strongly opposed to the modern dances, all of them.
True, I've seen very little, almost nothing. So I decided that, in order
to convince myself that I am right, I might as well, while I am in New
York--well--er----"

"I get you," I puts in. "You want to watch the real thing pulled--the
fox trot, and the new polkas, and so on. Eh?"

"Not for my own personal amusement," corrects Mrs. Hollister. "I am sure
I shall be bored, perhaps shocked; but then I shall be better able to
warn my girls."

"The old gag!" says I. "I know what would fit your case,--a late dinner
at the Maison Maxixe. Eh, Steele?" and I tips him the knowin' wink.

"Why--er--yes," says J. Bayard. "I presume Mr. McCabe is correct. And I
am sure we should be delighted to have Mrs. Hollister as our guest."

"We!" I gasps under my breath. Say, the nerve of him! But before I can
think up any p