Jean tried, but found her wits distraught between the scene just past and the trial to come. "No; tell me," she entreated. He drew a full exultant breath. "It's the Joyce-Reeves commission," he said. "I received the order to-night." XXIII They were not unpardonably late, yet were tardy enough to render their coming conspicuous to what seemed to Jean an ultramodish company which peopled not only Mrs. Van Ostade's drawing-room, but the connecting music-room and library as well. Julie, her dark good looks set off by yellow, met them with observant eyes, nodded "Yes, Craig; I know" to Atwood's great news, murmured a conventional word of regret to Jean that both their calls should have been fruitless, made two or three introductions to those who chanced nearest, and with the lift of an eyelid set in motion the mechanism of a statuesque butler; whereupon Jean found herself hazily translated to her place at table between a blond giant, who took her in, and a shadowy-eyed person with a pointed beard, who languidly quoted something resembling poetry about what he called the tinted symphony of Mrs. Van Ostade's candle-light. "How clever!" said Jean, at a venture, and welcomed the voice of her less ethereal neighbor. "Corking race," remarked the giant, beaming at her over the rim of his cocktail. This was concrete, if indefinite. "You mean--" "Yesterday--France. Wonderful! Gummiest kind of course--two days' hard rainfall, you know. I've been saying 'I told you so' all day. Didn't surprise me in the least. I knew her, d'ye see, I knew her." Jean looked as intelligent as she could, and hoped for a clew. The big man checked his elliptical remarks altogether, however, and, still beaming, awaited her profound response. "Is she French?" she hazarded, jumping at an inference. "But it was a man won. The sporting duchess, you mean, drew out." "I'm speaking of the horse," Jean struggled. "Horse! What horse?" ejaculated the giant. "I'm talking automobiles." She judged frankness best. "There is nothing for it but to confess," she said. "I know nothing about automobiles. I never set foot in one in my life." Her companion wagged a large reproachful finger. "Don't string me," he begged. "Didn't Julie Van Ostade put you up to this? I know I'm auto-mad and an easy mark, but--Jove! I believe you're serious. Why, it's--it's incredible! Just think a bit. You must have been in one of those piffling little runabouts?" "Never." "Well, then, a cab--an electric cab?" "Not even a 'bus." He shook his head solemnly and besought the attention of the petite guest in mauve on his left. "What do you think?" Jean heard him begin. "Miss Fanshaw here--" Then the shadowy-eyed seized his chance.