"You do not have to try," he answered lazily. "You do it simply by being on the street. I am playing in great luck to-day." "Have you seen Louise this morning?" she asked. He looked her full in the face. "I see no one but you when you are around." She laughed lightly. "Ferdy, you will begin to believe that after a while, if you do not stop saying it so often." "I shall never stop saying it, because it is true," he replied imperturbably, turning his dark eyes on her, the lids a little closed. "You have got so in the habit of saying it that you repeat it like my parrot that I taught once, when I was younger and vainer, to say, 'Pretty Alice.' He says it all the time." "Sensible bird," said Mr. Wickersham, calmly. "Come and drive me up to the Park and let's have a stroll. I know such a beautiful walk. There are so many people out to-day. I saw the lady of the 'cat-eyes and cat-claws' go by just now, seeking some one whom she can turn again and rend." It was the name she had given Mrs. Nailor. "I do not care who is out. Are you going to the Wentworths' this evening?" she asked irrelevantly. "No; I rarely go there. Will you mention that to Mrs. Nailor? She apparently has not that confidence in my word that I could have expected in one so truthful as herself." Mrs. Lancaster laughed. "Ferdy--" she began, and then paused irresolute. "However--" "Well, what is it? Say it." "You ought not to go there so often as you do." "Why?" His eyes were full of insolence. "Good-by. Drive home," she said to the coachman, in a tone intentionally loud enough for her friend to hear. Ferdy Wickersham strolled on down the street, and a few minutes later was leaning in at the door of Mrs. Wentworth's carriage, talking very earnestly to the lady inside. Mr. Wickersham's attentions to Louise Wentworth had begun to be the talk of the town. Young Mrs. Wentworth was not a person to allow herself to be shelved. She did not propose that the older lady who bore that name should be known by it. She declared she would play second fiddle to no one. But she discovered that the old lady who lived in the old mansion on Washington Square was "Mrs. Wentworth," and that Mrs. Wentworth occupied a position from which she was not to be moved. After a little she herself was known as "Mrs. Norman." It was the first time Mrs. Norman had ever had command of much money. Her mother had made a good appearance and dressed her daughter handsomely, but to carry out her plans she had had to stint and scrape to make both ends meet. Mrs. Caldwell told one of her friends that her rings knew the way to the pawnbroker's so well that if she threw them in the street they would roll into his shop.