Smull’s ruddy visage was ruddier after the third cocktail. The grave servant opened two folding glass doors; Smull gave his arm to Eris. Everything in the dining-room was suffused in a glow merciful to age and exquisitely transfiguring mortal youth into angelic immortality. The sheer beauty of the flowers, of the silver and glass; the white walls, the antique splendour of mirror and painting entranced the girl. Faultlessly chosen, perfectly served, the dinner progressed gaily, and without the visible embarrassment of Eris who, however, was conscious of a vague uneasiness, and who wondered why Frank Donnell did not arrive. There was champagne. She touched the glass with her lips, but all his gay cajolery and persuasion could not induce her to do more. She glanced at his face from time to time, noticing the deepening colour with curiosity but without uneasiness; always politely returning the fixed smile that never left those two little blackish brown eyes set a trifle too close together. Politely, too, she awaited Smull’s introduction of the subject matter to be discussed--the reason, in fact, and the excuse for her presence at this man’s table. But Smull talked of other matters,--trivial matters,--such as her personal beauty; the personal success she might make over sentimental men if she chose; the certain surprise and jealousy of other women--but what women, and of what sort he did not specify or make very clear. “You ought to get on,” he said, almost grinning. “I’m trying to,” she laughed. “Oh, sure. I mean----” But what he meant seemed to expire on his heavy lips as though lack of vocabulary, or perhaps of assurance, left him dumb for the moment. She wondered why Frank didn’t arrive. Coffee was now to be served in the lounge, which was part library, part living-room. Eris understood she was to rise: Smull joined her with his familiar arm taking possession of hers. His large, hot hand made her a little uncomfortable and she was glad to free her bare arm and retire with her coffee to a solitary arm-chair. The grave-faced servant seemed to know what to bring to Mr. Smull in addition to the frozen mint offered to Eris--and smilingly declined. After the grave one had retired with the empty coffee cups and had closed the folding glass doors, Eris looked enquiringly at Mr. Smull, awaiting the broaching of what most closely concerned her. But Smull, half draining his frosted glass, assumed a familiarity almost boisterous. “See here, Eris, you’re not going to get on unless you’re a good fellow. You’re not going to get anywhere if you don’t learn to keep up your end.” “If you mean cocktails and champagne,” she said, laughing, “I can’t help not liking them, can I?” “Certainly you can. Once you get the first glass down you’ll begin to like it. Come on, Eris! Show your pep. I’ll have Harvey bring you some champagne----” “I’m wondering,” she said, “why Frank Donnell doesn’t come. Have you any idea, Mr.----”