hinkers the Genius of the Species.

Mrs. Austen, who had danced many a time before his shrine, had no
objection whatever to the godlet, except only when he neglected to
appear Olympianly, as divinity should, with a nimbus of rentrolls and
gold.

In view of the fact that he had come to Margaret in deshabille, that is
to say without any discernible nimbus, he affronted Mrs. Austen's
ambitious eyes.

Of that she said nothing to Margaret. But at dinner one evening she
summarised it to Peter Verelst who sat at her right.

The room, which was furnished with tolerable taste, gave on Park Avenue
where she resided. At her left was Monty Paliser. Farther down were
Margaret, Lennox and Kate Schermerhorn. Coffee had been served. Paliser
was talking to Miss Schermerhorn; Lennox to Margaret.

"I don't like it," Mrs. Austen said evenly to Peter Verelst. "But what
can I do?"

Peter Verelst was an old New Yorker and an old beau. Mrs. Austen had
known him when she was in shorter frocks than those then in vogue. Even
as a child she had been ahead of the fashion.

"Do?" Verelst repeated. "Do nothing."

"I am a snob," she resumed, expecting him to contradict her. "I did hope
that Margaret, with her looks, would marry brilliantly."

Peter Verelst bent over his coffee. "The young man next door?"

Out of the corner of an eye Mrs. Austen glanced at Paliser and then back
at Verelst. "Well, something of the kind."

Verelst raised his cup. He had known Lennox' father. He knew and liked
the son. For Margaret he had an affection that was almost--and which
might have been--paternal. But, noting the barometer, he steered into
the open.

"Have Lennox here morning, noon and night. See to it that Margaret has
every opportunity to get sick to death of him. Whereas if you
interfere----"

Mrs. Austen, as though invoking the saints, lifted her eyes. "Ah, I
know! If I had not been interfered with I would not have taken Austen.
Much good it did me!"

Verelst, his hand on the tiller, nodded. "There you are! That locksmith
business is very sound. Love revels in it. But give him his head and
good-bye. Sooner or later he is bound to take to his heels, but, the
more he is welcomed, the sooner he goes. The history of love is a
history of farewells."

Paliser, who had caught the last phrase, felt like laughing and
consequently looked very serious. The spectacle of two antiques
discussing love seemed to him as hilarious as two paupers discussing
w