Five times in the next hour Mrs. Legendre tried to get Hempstead on the phone. When she succeeded, there was a ten-minute delay before she heard Paula's voice on the wire. "Cousin Jo told me Anson was intoxicated." "Oh, no...." "Oh, yes. Cousin Jo says he was intoxicated. He told her he was French, and fell off his chair and behaved as if he was very intoxicated. I don't want you to come home with him." "Mother, he's all right! Please don't worry about----" "But I do worry. I think it's dreadful. I want you to promise me not to come home with him." "I'll take care of it, mother...." "I don't want you to come home with him." "All right, mother. Good-by." "Be sure now, Paula. Ask some one to bring you." Deliberately Paula took the receiver from her ear and hung it up. Her face was flushed with helpless annoyance. Anson was stretched asleep out in a bedroom up-stairs, while the dinner-party below was proceeding lamely toward conclusion. The hour's drive had sobered him somewhat--his arrival was merely hilarious--and Paula hoped that the evening was not spoiled, after all, but two imprudent cocktails before dinner completed the disaster. He talked boisterously and somewhat offensively to the party at large for fifteen minutes, and then slid silently under the table; like a man in an old print--but, unlike an old print, it was rather horrible without being at all quaint. None of the young girls present remarked upon the incident--it seemed to merit only silence. His uncle and two other men carried him up-stairs, and it was just after this that Paula was called to the phone. An hour later Anson awoke in a fog of nervous agony, through which he perceived after a moment the figure of his uncle Robert standing by the door. "... I said are you better?" "What?" "Do you feel better, old man?" "Terrible," said Anson. "I'm going to try you on another bromo-seltzer. If you can hold it down, it'll do you good to sleep." With an effort Anson slid his legs from the bed and stood up. "I'm all right," he said dully. "Take it easy." "I thin' if you gave me a glassbrandy I could go down-stairs." "Oh, no----" "Yes, that's the only thin'. I'm all right now.... I suppose I'm in Dutch dow' there." "They know you're a little under the weather," said his uncle deprecatingly. "But don't worry about it. Schuyler didn't even get here. He passed away in the locker-room over at the Links." Indifferent to any opinion, except Paula's, Anson was nevertheless determined to save the débris of the evening, but when after a cold bath he made his appearance most of the party had already left. Paula got up immediately to go home.