, and the world outside the orbit of the Four Hundred is a rumor of
no importance.

She had met Senator Meiklejohn in so many places for so many years that
they might be called comrades in the task of dining and making New York
look elegant. She was pleased to see him. Their common fund of scandal
and epigram would carry them safely over a cheerful hour.

"And as to the good old firm of Carshaw--prosperous as usual, I hope,"
said Meiklejohn, balancing an egg-shell tea-cup.

Mrs. Carshaw shrugged.

"I don't know much about it," she said, "but I sometimes hear talk of
bad times and lack of capital. I suppose it is all right. Rex does not
seem concerned."

"Ah! but the mischief may be just there," said Meiklejohn. "The rogue
may be throwing it all on the shoulders of his managers, and letting
things slide."

"He may--he probably is. I see very little of him, really, especially
just lately."

"Is it the same little influence at work upon him as some months ago?"
asked Meiklejohn, bending nearer, a real confidential crony.

"Which same little influence?" asked the lady, agog with a sense of
secrecy, and genuinely anxious as to anything affecting her son.

"Why, the girl, Winifred Bartlett."

"Bartlett! As far as I know, I have never even heard her name."

"Extraordinary! Why, it's the talk of the club."

"Tell me. What is it all about?"

"Ah, I must not be indiscreet. When I mentioned her, I took it for
granted that you knew all about it, or I should not have told tales out
of school."

"Yes, but you and I are of a different generation than Rex. He belongs
to the spring, we belong to the autumn. There is no question of telling
tales out of school as between you and him. So now, please, you are
going to tell me _all_."

"Well, the usual story: A girl of lower social class; a young man's head
turned by her wiles; the conventions more or less defied; business
yawned at; mother, friends, everything shelved for the time being, and
nothing important but the one thing. It's not serious, perhaps. So long
as business is not _too_ much neglected, and no financial consequences
follow, society thinks not a whit worse of a young man on that
account--on one condition, mark you! There must be no question of
marriage. But in this case there _is_ that question."

"But this is merely ridiculous!" laughed Mrs. Carshaw shrilly.
"Marriage! Can a son of mine be so quixotic?"

"It is commonly believed that he is about to marr