ne. Folk came forward to meet her
with that charming air of protective deference that he had adopted
towards her. He might have been some favoured minister of state kissing
the hand of a youthful Queen. She glanced down the long studio, ending
in its fine window overlooking the park. Some of the most distinguished
men in Paris were there, and the immediate stir of admiration that her
entrance had created was unmistakable. Even the women turned pleased
glances at her; as if willing to recognize in her their representative. A
sense of power came to her that made her feel kind to all the world.
There was no need for her to be clever: to make any effort to attract.
Her presence, her sympathy, her approval seemed to be all that was needed
of her. She had the consciousness that by the mere exercise of her will
she could sway the thoughts and actions of these men: that sovereignty
had been given to her. It reflected itself in her slightly heightened
colour, in the increased brilliance of her eyes, in the confident case of
all her movements. It added a compelling softness to her voice.

She never quite remembered what the talk was about. Men were brought up
and presented to her, and hung about her words, and sought to please her.
She had spoken her own thoughts, indifferent whether they expressed
agreement or not; and the argument had invariably taken another plane. It
seemed so important that she should be convinced. Some had succeeded,
and had been strengthened. Others had failed, and had departed
sorrowful, conscious of the necessity of "thinking it out again."

Guests with other engagements were taking their leave. A piquante little
woman, outrageously but effectively dressed--she looked like a drawing by
Beardsley--drew her aside. "I've always wished I were a man," she said.
"It seemed to me that they had all the power. From this afternoon, I
shall be proud of belonging to the governing sex."

She laughed and slipped away.

Phillips was waiting for her in the vestibule. She had forgotten him;
but now she felt glad of his humble request to be allowed to see her
home. It would have been such a big drop from her crowded hour of
triumph to the long lonely cab ride and the solitude of the hotel. She
resolved to be gracious, feeling a little sorry for her neglect of
him--but reflecting with satisfaction that he had probably been watching
her the whole time.

"What's the matter with my tie?" he asked. "Wro