t he doesn't notice such things very
closely; and Gerald isn't here. . . . Thank you for letting me show it
to you before I go down."

She gave both his hands a friendly little shake and, glancing down at
her skirt in blissful consciousness of its perfection, stepped backward
into her own room.

Later, while he stood at his dresser constructing an immaculate knot in
his white tie, Nina knocked.

"Hurry, Phil! Oh, may I come in? . . . You ought to be downstairs with
us, you know. . . . And it was very sweet of you to be so nice to
Eileen. The child had tears in her eyes when I went in. Oh, just a
single diamond drop in each eye; your sympathy and interest did
it. . . . I think the child misses her father on an occasion such as
this--the beginning of life--the first step out into the world. Men do
not understand what it means to us; Gerald doesn't, I'm sure. I've been
watching her, and I know the shadow of that dreadful tragedy falls on
her more often than Austin and I are aware of. . . . Shall I fix that
tie for you, dear? . . . Certainly I can; Austin won't let a man touch
him. . . . There, Phil. . . . Wait! . . . Now if you are decently
grateful you'll tell me I look well. Do I? Really? Nonsense, I _don't_
look twenty; but--say it, Phil. Ah, that clever maid of mine knows some
secrets--never mind!--but Drina thinks I'm a beauty. . . . Come, dear;
and thank you for being kind to Eileen. One's own kin counts so much in
this world. And when a girl has none, except a useless brother, little
things like that mean a lot to her." She turned, her hand falling on his
sleeve. "_You_ are among your own people, anyhow!"

* * * * *

His own people! The impatient tenderness of his sister's words had been
sounding in his ears all through the evening. They rang out clear and
insistent amid the gay tumult of the dinner; he heard them in the
laughing confusion of youthful voices; they stole into the delicate
undertones of the music to mock him; the rustling of silk and lace
repeated them; the high heels of satin slippers echoed them in irony.

His own people!

The scent of overheated flowers, the sudden warm breeze eddying from a
capricious fan, the mourning thrill of the violins emphasised the
emphasis of the words.

And they sounded sadder and more meaningless now to him, here in his
own room, until the monotony of their recurrent mockery began to unnerve
him.

He turned on the electricity, s