ce. Mary rose reluctantly as he
joined them. "Oh, Porter, must I listen to Delilah's chatter for the
rest of the evening?"

"You made me listen to Grace's. This is your punishment."

"I don't want to be punished. And I am very tired, Porter."

This was a new word in Mary Ballard's vocabulary, and Porter responded
at once to its appeal.

"We will get rid of Delilah presently, and then Gordon and Constance
will go with us for a spin around the Speedway. That will set you up,
little lady."

Roger stood silent by the fountain. Through the veil of mist the
little bronze boy seemed to smile maliciously. During all the years in
which he had ridden the dolphin, he had seen men and women come and go
beneath the hundred-leaved bush. And he had smiled on all of them, and
by their mood they had interpreted his smiles.

Roger's mood at this moment was one of impotent rebellion at Porter's
air of proprietorship, and it was with this air intensified that, as
Mary shivered again Porter drew her wrap about her shoulders, fastening
the loop over the big button with expert fingers and said, carelessly,
"Are you coming in with us, Poole?"

"No. Not now."

Above the head of the little bronze boy, level glance met level glance,
as in the moonlight the men surveyed each other.

Then Mary spoke.

"Mr. Poole, I am so sorry not to hear the rest of the--story."

"You shall hear it another time."

She hesitated, looking up at him. It was as if she wanted to speak but
could not, with Porter there to listen.

So she smiled, with eyes and lips. Just a flash, but it warmed his
heart.

Yet as she went away with Porter, and passed once more through the
broad band of the street lamp's light which made of her scarlet cloak a
flaming flower, he looked after her wistfully, and wondered if when she
had heard what he had to tell she would ever smile at him like that
again.

Delilah, fresh from a triumphal summer, was in the midst of a laughing
group on the porch.

As Mary came up, she was saying: "And we have taken a dear old home in
Georgetown. No more glare or glitter. Everything is to be subdued to
the dullness of a Japanese print--pale gray and dull blue and a splash
of black. This gown gives the keynote."

She was in gray taffeta, with a girdle of soft old blue, and a string
of black rose-beads. No color was on her cheeks--there was just the
blackness of her hair and the whiteness of her fine skin.

"It's great," B