Despite the lessons of her past, Dolores felt disappointed. The Rev. Alexander Willard had looked at her often and long. Seff had looked at her and looked again. As she went about the city, strangers filled her with uneasiness by their stares. She supposed she should be glad that one man was superior to the attraction of looks which she had been forced to conclude were unusual. She should be glad, yes. And yet, she caught herself wishing that this man, on this occasion---- Through that never-to-be-forgotten dinner--the first formal one of her life--she made effort to adapt herself as a unit of the quartette and to attend Mrs. Cabot’s converse with something the responsiveness of Rufus Holt. Her awe of Bradish and the second butler she conquered enough to sample the dishes passed. She became sufficiently accustomed to the candle-light to appreciate this and that detail--the drawn-work dinner cloth, the Sheffield service, the gleam of a fountain playing Nature’s music in the conservatory beyond. She commented on the match of the fulvid, velvety orchids that formed the centerpiece with their hostess’ gown. With the rest she sipped of a vintage recommended by their host as from the fore-stocked Cabot cellar. “You’ll go far these dry days and drink--well, perhaps too much, to find better Burgundy than this,” he said. “It is neither too thick nor too thin; neither sweet nor sour; smooth and gentle, yet not heady. And the color---- Hasn’t it the rich red of dreams come true?” “Speaking of color, John,” the attorney suggested, “are you noticing the rare contrast between two ladies fair to-night?” John Cabot nodded and glanced abstractedly into his wife’s pleased, expectant face, but omitted altogether to look the governess’ way. “Thank Heaven, I’m single. _I_ can enjoy such things.” Holt laughed. “You mean,” John corrected, “you can enjoy them out loud.” “And why can’t you, John?” Catherine protested. “Naturally and connubially, you find it rather dull paying compliments to me, but certainly Miss Trent deserves a few. Why in the world don’t you warm up?” “I am warming up,” he replied, his dry smile all for the wet wine in his glass. She showed increased dissatisfaction over his impersonalities. “You sound and look distrait to-night. Are you worried, dear? Rufus told us something about bricks falling on the Street. Is it true that you were hit?” “Hard hit.” “You mean that you lost money?” “Lost?” He spoke with vague surprise. “Can I ever lose? Alas, no. While the rumor-mongers were spreading the report which Rufus heard about my losses, I made--made--_made_.” “You funny, clever John! Tell me”--a gleam lit the wife’s eyes--“was it much that you made?” “Too much. It is disconcerting to gather in upward of a million unintentionally.” “A million? _John!_ Won’t you tell us how you did it? I never tire of your coups.”