he chose the Corinthian: exuberant, but based on the best precedent. The
Trenor house is one of his best things--doesn't look like a
banqueting-hall turned inside out. I hear Mrs. Trenor wants to build out
a new ball-room, and that divergence from Gus on that point keeps her at
Bellomont. The dimensions of the Brys' ball-room must rankle: you may be
sure she knows 'em as well as if she'd been there last night with a
yard-measure. Who said she was in town, by the way? That Farish boy? She
isn't, I know; Mrs. Stepney was right; the house is dark, you see: I
suppose Gus lives in the back."

He had halted opposite the Trenors' corner, and Selden perforce stayed
his steps also. The house loomed obscure and uninhabited; only an oblong
gleam above the door spoke of provisional occupancy.

"They've bought the house at the back: it gives them a hundred and fifty
feet in the side street. There's where the ball-room's to be, with a
gallery connecting it: billiard-room and so on above. I suggested
changing the entrance, and carrying the drawing-room across the whole
Fifth Avenue front; you see the front door corresponds with the
windows----"

The walking-stick which Van Alstyne swung in demonstration dropped to a
startled "Hallo!" as the door opened and two figures were seen
silhouetted against the hall-light. At the same moment a hansom halted at
the curb-stone, and one of the figures floated down to it in a haze of
evening draperies; while the other, black and bulky, remained
persistently projected against the light.

For an immeasurable second the two spectators of the incident were
silent; then the house-door closed, the hansom rolled off, and the whole
scene slipped by as if with the turn of a stereopticon.

Van Alstyne dropped his eye-glass with a low whistle.

"A--hem--nothing of this, eh, Selden? As one of the family, I know I may
count on you--appearances are deceptive--and Fifth Avenue is so
imperfectly lighted----"

"Goodnight," said Selden, turning sharply down the side street without
seeing the other's extended hand.

Alone with her cousin's kiss, Gerty stared upon her thoughts. He had
kissed her before--but not with another woman on his lips. If he had
spared her that she could have drowned quietly, welcoming the dark flood
as it submerged her. But now the flood was shot through with glory, and
it was harder to drown at sunrise than in darkness. Gerty hid her face
from the light, but it pierced to the cr