Mr. Cricklewick, being more or less hazy concerning overseas history, took heart. They went to the dinner and he, remembering just how certain noblemen of his acquaintance deported themselves, got on famously. And although his wife never had seen a duchess eat, except by proxy in the theatre, she left nothing to be desired,--except, perhaps, in the way of food, of which she was so fond that it was rather a bore to nibble as duchesses do. Being a sensible and far-seeing woman, she did not resent it when he mildly protested that Lady So-and-So wouldn't have done this, and the Duchess of You-Know wouldn't have done that. She looked upon him as a master in the School of Manners. It was not long before she was able not only to hold her own with the élite, but also to hold her lorgnette with them. If she did not care to see you in a crowd she could overlook you in the very smartest way. And so, after twenty or twenty-five years, we find the Cricklewicks,--mother, father and daughter,--substantially settled in the City of Masks, occupying an enviable position in society, and seldom, if ever,--even in the bosom of the family,--referring to the days of long ago,--a precaution no doubt inspired by the fear that they might be overheard and misunderstood by their own well-trained and admirable butler, whose respect they could not afford to lose. Once a week, on Wednesday nights, Mr. Cricklewick took off his mask. It was, in a sense, his way of going to confession. He told his wife, however, that he was going to the club. He sighed a little more briskly as he turned away from the window and crossed over to the closet in which his fur-lined coat and silk hat were hanging. It had taken time and a great deal of persuasion on the part of his wife to prove to him that it wasn't quite the thing to wear a silk hat with a sack coat in New York; he had grudgingly compromised with the barbaric demands of fashion by dispensing with the sack coat in favour of a cutaway. The silk hat was a fixture. "A lady asking to see you, sir," said his office-boy, after knocking on the door marked "Private." "Hold my coat for me, Thomas," said Mr. Cricklewick. "Yes, sir," said Thomas. "But she says you will see her, sir, just as soon as you gets a look at her." "Obviously," said Mr. Cricklewick, shaking himself down into the great coat. "Don't rub it the wrong way, you simpleton. You should always brush a silk hat with the nap and not--" "May I have a few words with you, Mr. Cricklewick?" inquired a sweet, clear voice from the doorway. The head of the house opened his lips to say something sharp to the office-boy, but the words died as he obeyed a magnetic influence and hazarded a glance at the intruder's face.