"Where to?" demanded Rags with scorn. "Do you think I still thrill at a night-club and a bottle of sugary mousseaux? I prefer my own gaudy dreams." "I'll take you to the most highly-strung place in the city." "What'll happen? You've got to tell me what'll happen." John Chestnut suddenly drew a long breath and looked cautiously around as if he were afraid of being overheard. "Well, to tell you the truth," he said in a low, worried tone, "if everything was known, something pretty awful would be liable to happen to _me_." She sat upright and the pillows tumbled about her like leaves. "Do you mean to imply that there's anything shady in your life?" she cried, with laughter in her voice. "Do you expect me to believe that? No, John, you'll have your fun by plugging ahead on the beaten path--just plugging ahead." Her mouth, a small insolent rose, dropped the words on him like thorns. John took his hat and coat from the chair and picked up his cane. "For the last time--will you come along with me to-night and see what you will see?" "See what? See who? Is there anything in this country worth seeing?" "Well," he said, in a matter-of-fact tone, "for one thing you'll see the Prince of Wales." "What?" She left the chaise-longue at a bound. "Is he back in New York?" "He will be to-night. Would you care to see him?" "Would I? I've never seen him. I've missed him everywhere. I'd give a year of my life to see him for an hour." Her voice trembled with excitement. "He's been in Canada. He's down here incognito for the big prize-fight this afternoon. And I happen to know where he's going to be to-night." Rags gave a sharp ecstatic cry: "Dominic! Louise! Germaine!" The three maids came running. The room filled suddenly with vibrations of wild, startled light. "Dominic, the car!" cried Rags in French. "St. Raphael, my gold dress and the slippers with the real gold heels. The big pearls too--all the pearls, and the egg-diamond and the stockings with the sapphire clocks. Germaine--send for a beauty-parlor on the run. My bath again--ice cold and half full of almond cream. Dominic--Tiffany's, like lightning, before they close. Find me a brooch, a pendant, a tiara, anything--it doesn't matter--with the arms of the house of Windsor." She was fumbling at the buttons of her dress--and as John turned quickly to go, it was already sliding from her shoulders. "Orchids!" she called after him, "orchids, for the love of heaven! Four dozen, so I can choose four." And then maids flew here and there about the room like frightened birds. "Perfume, St. Raphael, open the perfume trunk, and my rose-colored sables, and my diamond garters, and the sweet-oil for my hands! Here, take these things! This too--and this--ouch!--and this!" With becoming modesty John Chestnut closed the outside door. The six trustees in various postures of fatigue, of ennui, of resignation, of despair, were still cluttering up the outer hall.