“You know, Tony,” she said, with that little, settling movement women use to begin a gossip, “what really amuses me is that we haven’t—at least I haven’t—the slightest idea, not a glimmer, what people Mrs. Budd will be asking down. She hardly knows me, hasn’t seen me since I left school for Paris—don’t you dare to mention how long ago! And yet she fairly threatened me into it, eyes popping and every hair a-quiver. I quite got the feeling that she wants something of me.” “Of course,” he grinned cheerfully, “they always do.” “But something special.” “Letters of introduction?” he hazarded. “It’s quite on the cards. They’ll be going to London next season, if she doesn’t—but, of course, you know what she’s after.” “Not, at any rate, _you_,” she quizzed. At this he laughed out, “Oh, Lord, no!” Their common amusement was made up of their common knowledge of his shabby income, his opera still on probation, and his purely potential career. The speed of the train was notably slackening. The porter had made the round with his whisk-broom, and was carrying bags and golf-kits to the outer platform. The greater number of travelers had risen, and were rushing or rustling into their coats. Most of these people seemed to know one another, were all bound for a common goal—the little city of country houses. In the next three days they would all meet half a dozen times. They exhaled the heady atmosphere of their small, smart community. The stucco front of the San Mateo station slid slowly past the window. When the train finally came to a stop the chair-car was at the far end of the long platform, its windows commanding the full curve of the drive where it swept out of the encroaching trees. The two, who remained seated in the midst of the general departure, now realized that the exodus would leave them solitary. “Good!” said Longacre, contentedly, settling more comfortably into his chair. His companion leaned forward to look down the long wooden platform where, already, the newly alighted travelers were segregating themselves and their parties, one from another, and were being driven away in a light whirl of dust. The travel seemed all arrival. One or two callow, negligent college boys swung aboard the smoker. The porter took up the stool. “I really believe—” Mrs. Essington began. The sight of a victoria lurching around the turn of the drive stopped her sentence.