e driving up town. The Evanses' place was on
Riverside Drive; and when Montague got out of the cab and saw it
looming up in the semi-darkness, he emitted an exclamation of wonder.
It was as big as a jail!

"Oh, yes, they've got room enough," said Oliver, with a laugh. "I put
this deal through for them--it's the old Lamson palace, you know."

They had the room; and likewise they had all the trappings of
snobbery--Montague took that fact in at a glance. There were
knee-breeches and scarlet facings and gold braid--marble balconies and
fireplaces and fountains--French masters and real Flemish tapestry. The
staircase of their palace was a winding one, and there was a white
velvet carpet which had been specially woven for it, and had to be
changed frequently; at the top of it was a white cashmere rug which had
a pedigree of six centuries--and so on.

And then came the family: this tall, raw-boned, gigantic man, with
weather-tanned face and straggling grey moustache--this was Jack Evans;
and Mrs. Evans, short and pudgy, but with a kindly face, and not too
many diamonds; and the Misses Evans,--stately and slender and perfectly
arrayed. "Why, they're all right!" was the thought that came to
Montague.

They were all right until they opened their mouths. When they spoke,
you discovered that Evans was a miner, and that his wife had been cook
on a ranch; also that Anne and Mary had harsh voices, and that they
never by any chance said or did anything natural.

They were escorted into the stately dining-room--Henri II., with a
historic mantel taken from the palace of Fontainebleau, and four great
allegorical paintings of Morning, Evening, Noon, and Midnight upon the
walls. There were no other guests--the table, set for six, seemed like
a toy in the vast apartment. And in a sudden flash--with a start of
almost terror--Montague realized what it must mean not to be in
Society. To have all this splendour, and nobody to share it! To have
Henri II. dining-rooms and Louis XVI. parlours and Louis XIV.
libraries--and see them all empty! To have no one to drive with or talk
with, no one to visit or play cards with--to go to the theatre and the
opera and have no one to speak to! Worse than that, to be stared at and
smiled at! To live in this huge palace, and know that all the horde of
servants, underneath their cringing deference, were sneering at you! To
face that--to live in the presence of it day after day! And then,
outside of your hom