"Indeed, it is not, Colonel Curmew!" she said, amused. "I shall retire early, because I have an early train to catch." The colonel’s face darkened. There were limits to coquetry. "When did you decide to go?" "A few minutes ago." "You knew I had something to say to you?" "I knew nothing of the sort. And what has it to do with my going to town, anyway?" The colonel had only a few moments to decide. "How long will you be in town?" "I don’t know." "Where will you be?" He wearied her, and to be rid of him she thoughtlessly gave him the address at the Plaza. "I’ll be in town for a day or two," he said, leering at her once more. If she heard, she paid no heed, for she was already entering the billiard room with a gay gesture and a smile for Wallace, who waved his hand in reply, and looked volumes at her across the hubbub. *CHAPTER XIV* *DESUNT CÆTERA* Silvette and Diana, in one of Mr. Rivett’s town limousines, had shopped to their hearts’ satisfaction, inspected fashions for the coming winter in hats and furs and gowns and various intimate affairs of flimsier fabric, had whirled away down town to lunch with Mr. Rivett and Mr. Dineen at the Iron and Steel Club, then whirled up town again to resume the delicious exploration of those glittering Fifth Avenue shops which line that thoroughfare from Madison Square to the gilded battle horse and its rider in two almost unbroken ranks. In that magic land, where trousseaux are assembled and garnered by pretty brides to be, Silvette lingered, fascinated; but her rapid, intelligent survey was only preliminary as yet. She and Diana were merely en vidette; official inspection and an advance in force would follow later. But, oh, the jewels and the furs and the lovely laces and the heavenly hats! Every shop was now in full swing toward the culminating, scintillating transformation of Christmas; the avenue was crowded with flashing automobiles and carriages, the florists’ windows were beautiful, the sidewalks crowded. Men sold violets everywhere at street corners or offered enormous, orange-tinted chrysanthemums nodding on long stems; giant policemen on foot kept busy ward at every crossing; superb mounted police calmly stemmed the twin torrents and, with lifted hand, quieted the maelstrom. Far to the south, in snowy magnificence against the sky, the huge marble tower brooded under its golden lantern above the city’s roar; northward the naked trees of the park turned ruddy and golden in the eye of the level sun. And all of it the two young girls beheld, and part of it they were—sometimes afoot in the throng, sometimes in their limousine, looking out with enchanted eyes upon all this magic—magic only, alas! to the unspoiled eyes of youth.