rre.

He sent up his name to Mrs. Shiffney, who was at home. In a few moments
she sent down to say she would see him in her sitting-room. When Claude
came into it he found her there in an evening gown.

"Do forgive me! You're going out?" he said.

"Where are you dining?" she answered.

Claude made a vague gesture.

"Have you come to dine with me?" she said, smiling.

"But I see you are going out!"

She shook her powerful head.

"We will dine up here. But I must telephone to a number in Fifth
Avenue."

She went toward the telephone.

"Oh, but I can't keep you at home. It is too outrageous!" he said.

"Give me time to telephone!" she answered, looking round at him over her
shoulder.

"You are much too kind!" he said. "I--I looked in to settle about your
coming to that rehearsal."

She got on to the number in Fifth Avenue and spoke through the telephone
softly.

"There! That's done! And now help me to order a dinner for--" she
glanced at him shrewdly--"a tired genius."

Claude smiled. They consulted together, amicably arranging the menu.

The dinner was brought quickly, and they sat down, one on each side of a
round table decorated with lilies of the valley.

"I'm playing traitress to-night," Mrs. Shiffney said in her deep voice.
"I was to have been at a dinner arranged for the Senniers by Mrs.
Algernon Batsford."

"I am so ashamed."

"Or are you a little bit flattered?"

"Both, perhaps."

"A divinely complex condition. Tell me about the rehearsal."

They plunged into a discussion on music. Mrs. Shiffney was a past
mistress in the art of subtle flattery, when she chose to be. And she
always chose to be, in the service of her caprices. She understood well
the vanity of the artistic temperament. She even understood its reverse
side, which was strongly developed in Claude. Her efforts were dedicated
to the dual temperament, and beautifully. The discussion was long and
animated, lasting all through dinner to the time of Turkish coffee.
Claude forgot his fatigue, and Mrs. Shiffney almost forgot her caprice.
She became genuinely interested in the discussion merely as a
discussion. Her sincere passion for art got the upper hand in her. And
this made her the more delightful. The evening fled and its feet were
winged.

"I was going to a party at Eve Inness's," she said, when half-past ten
chimed in the clock on her writing-table. "But I'll give it up."

Claude sprang to his feet.

"Really you must