nor explanation. It was all there. It was tangible
as a brickbat, self-evident as the sun.

In admiring it, the young man philosophised stoically. Did he not have
enough for that already?

Yes, but later? Later might he not want to philosophise less stoically
and more luxuriously? It was a problem. Meanwhile there was Cassy. He
had no wish to lose her. Yet about him already was the shadow of the
inevitable draft act. That was not a problem merely, it was a pit.

Meanwhile there was Cassy whom he did not wish to lose. She was
delightful, delectable, delicious. Not divine though, thank heaven! The
gleam in her eyes could be quite infernal. The gleam heightened a charm
which in itself was fugitive. He recognised that. However delicious a
dish may be, no man can feed on it always. Not he at any rate. But, for
the time being, it was very appetising. For the present, it did very
well. On the other hand, Margaret Austen represented a succession of
courses which, in addition to being appetising, would lift him to a
parity with the super-rich.

It was certainly perplexing. But it is a long turning that has no lane.
He was a decent whip and a string made up of Margaret and Cassy was one
that, let him alone for it, he could handle.

But now the car had stopped. Abandoning perplexity, he went on and up.

XXII

"Here you are! Bright and late as usual!"

In her fluted voice, with her agreeable smile, Mrs. Austen greeted him.
The lady was attired in a manner that left her glitteringly and
splendidly bare. With her, in the cluttered drawing-room, were Margaret,
Kate Schermerhorn, Poppet Bleecker, Verelst, Cantillon and Ogston.

"Will you take my daughter out?" Mrs. Austen, with that smile,
continued. "Oh!" she interrupted herself to remark. "You have not
congratulated Mr. Cantillon. Has no little bird told you? It's this dear
child Kate. Just now--don't you think?--engagements, like lilacs, are in
the air." She turned to Verelst. "Grey deceiver!"

Verelst crooked his arm. "However much I tried to deceive, I got grey
before I could."

"What are you laughing at?" Mrs. Austen with her tireless smile enquired
of Paliser, who, after speaking to the girls, had said something to
Cantillon.

"Somersaults being a specialty of his, I was telling him that now is the
time for a triple one."

Paliser turned to Margaret. She had said nothing. She was very pale.
Mute, white, blonde, she was a vision.

At table, Verelst, addr