The Metropolis

He had still to learn what the full price was. The day after his return there came a caller — Mr. John C. Burton, read his card. He proved to be a canvassing-agent for the company which published the scandal-sheet of Society. They were preparing a de luxe account of tne prominent families of New York; a very sumptuous affair, with a highly exclusive set of subscribers, at the rate of fifteen hundred dollars per set. Would Mr. Montague by any chance care to have his family included ?

And Mr. Montague explained politely that he was a comparative stranger in New York, and would not belong properly in such a volume. But the agent was not satisfied with this. There might be reasons for his subscribing, even so; there might be special cases; Mr. Montague, as a stranger, might not realise the important nature of the ojBfer; after he had consulted his friends, he might change his mind — and so on. As Montague listened to this series of broad hints, and took in the meaning of them, the colour mounted to his cheeks — until at last he rose abruptly and bid the man good afternoon.

But then as he sat alone, his anger died

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away, and there was left only discomfort and uneasiness. And three or four days later he bought another issue of the paper, and sure enough, there was a new paragraph !

He stood on the street-corner reading it. The social war was raging hotly, it said; and added that Mrs. de Graffenried was threatening to take up the cause of the strangers. Then it went on to picture a certain exquisite young man of fashion who was rushing about among his friends to apologise for his brother's indiscretions. Also, it said, there was a brilliant social queen, wife of a great banker, who had taken up the cudgels. And then came three sentences more, which made the blood leap like flame into Montague's cheeks:

" There have not been lacking comments upon her suspicious ardour. It has been noticed that since the advent of the romantic-looking Southerner, this restless lady's interest in the Babists and the trance mediums has waned; and now Society is watching for the denouement of a most interesting situation."

To Montague these words came like a blow in the face. He went on down the street, half dazed. It seemed to him the blackest shame that New York had yet shown him. He clenched his fists as he walked, whispering to himself, " The scoundrels!"

He realised instantly that he was helpless. Down home one would have thrashed the editor of such a paper; but here he was in the wolves' own country, and he could do nothing. He went back to his office, and sat down at the desk.

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" My dear Mrs. Winnie," he wrote. " I have just read the enclosed paragraph, and I cannot tell you how profoundly pained I am that your kindness to us should have made you the victim of such an outrage. I am quite helpless in the matter, except to enable you to avoid any further annoyance. Please believe me when I say that we shall all of us understand perfectly if you think that we had best not meet again at present; and that this will make no difference whatever in our feelings."

This letter Montague sent by a messenger; and then he went home. Perhaps ten minutes after he arrived, the telephone bell rang — and there was Mrs. Winnie.

"Your note has come," she said. "Have you an engagement this evening.?"

" No,' he answered.

"Well," she said, "will you come to dinner.?"

" Mrs. Winnie —" he protested.

" Please come," she said. " Please !"

"I hate to have you —"he began.

"I wish you to come !" she said, a third time.

So he answered, " Very well."

He went; and when he entered the house, the butler led him to the elevator, saying, "Mrs. Duval says will you please come upstairs, sir." And there Mrs. Winnie met him, with flushed cheeks and eager countenance.

She was even lovelier than usual, in a soft cream-coloured gown, and a crimson rose in her bosom. "I'm all alone to-night," she said, "so

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we'll dine in my apartments. We'd be lost in that big room downstairs."

She led him into her drawing-room, where great armfuls of new roses scattered their perfume. There was a table set for two, and two big chairs before the fire which blazed in the hearth. Montague noticed that her hand trembled a little, as she motioned him to one of them; he could read her excitement in her whole aspect. She was flinging down the gauntlet to her enemies!

" Let us eat first and talk afterward," she said, hurriedly. "We'll be happy for a while, anyway."