"Oh, wait. You can't decline this; it's business; Bergman says you must come as a personal favor to him. Mrs. Thompson-Bellaire is giving a box-party, and she told him to fetch you around for supper. She owns a piece of this show, and the theater belongs to the estate, so you'll just have to go." "Mercy! Mrs. Thompson-Bellaire, the college-boy's giddy godmother," Lilas mocked. "I suppose she's out slumming, with her kindergarten class." Slosson frowned at this levity. "Will you go?" he inquired. "Yes or no?" "Um-m--I'll have to say 'yes,' it seems." "Good. I'll 'phone Bergman." When the press-agent had gone Lilas regarded her companion with open compassion. "Gee! But you're going to have a grand time. That bunch thinks it's smart to be seen with show-people, and of course they'll dance all night." Lorelei groaned. "And I did so want to go straight back to my new home." When she joined her employer after the show she was in no very agreeable frame of mind. Mrs. Thompson-Bellaire was a vermilion-haired widow with a chest like a blacksmith, who had become famous for her jewels and her social eccentricities. She and her party were established at one of the up-town "Trottoires," when Nobel Bergman and Lorelei arrived. Three examples of blushing boyhood devoted themselves to a languid blonde girl of thirty-five, and the hostess herself was dancing with another tender youth, but she came forward, panting. "So good of you to come, dear," she cried. "This is Miss Wyeth, and these are my boys, Mr.--" She spoke four meaningless names, and four meaningless smiles responded; four wet-combed heads were bowed. She turned to her blonde companion, saying, "She IS pretty, isn't she, Alice?" "Very," Alice agreed, without removing her eyes from the youth at her left. Bergman invited Lorelei to finish the dance; then he inquired, "What do you think of her?" "Her hair fascinates me; she looks as if she had just burst out of a thicket of henna leaves." Bergman laughed, silently. "But why did she invite me?" "I told her to." "You?" "I knew you'd refuse if I asked you." "So? Then I'm really your guest instead of hers." "We'll leave whenever you say." Throughout the rest of the dance Lorelei was silent, offended at Bergman's deception and uncomfortable at her own situation; but the hostess had ordered a supper of the unsatisfactory kind usual in such places; little as she liked the prospect, she could not leave at once.