She pressed his hand again and turned to welcome the financial Cyclops, James Dyckman, and his huge wife, and Captain Fargeton, a foreign military attaché with service chevrons and wound-chevrons and a _croix de guerre_, and a wife, who had been Mildred Tait. "All that and an American spouse!" said Davidge to Marie Louise. "Have you never had an American spouse?" she asked, brazenly. "Not one!" he confessed. Major and Polly Widdicombe had come in with Marie Louise, and Davidge drifted into their circle. The great room filled gradually with men of past or future fame, and the poor women who were concerned in enduring its acquisition. Marie Louise was radiant in mood and queenly in attire. Davidge was startled by the magnificence of her jewelry. Some of it was of old workmanship, royal heirloomry. Her accent was decidedly English, yet her race was undoubtedly American. The many things about her that had puzzled him subconsciously began to clamor at least for the attention of curiosity. He watched her making the best of herself, as a skilful woman does when she is all dressed up in handsome scenery among toplofty people. Polly was describing the guests as they came in: "That's Colonel Harvey Forbes. His name has been sent to Congress for approval as a brigadier-general. I knew him in the midst of the wildest scandal--remind me to tell you. He was only a captain then. He'll probably end as a king or something. This war is certainly good to some people." Davidge watched Marie Louise studying the somber officer. He was a bit jealous, shamed by his own civilian clothes. Suddenly Marie Louise's smile at Polly's chatter stopped short, shriveled, then returned to her face with a look of effort. Her muscles seemed to be determined that her lips should not droop. Davidge heard the butler announce: "Lady Clifton-Wyatt and General Sir Hector Havendish." Davidge wondered which of the two names could have so terrified Marie Louise. Naturally he supposed that it was the man's. He turned to study the officer in his British uniform. He saw a tall, loose-jointed, jovial man of horsy look and carriage, and no hint of mystery--one would say an intolerance of mystery. Lady Clifton-Wyatt was equally amiable. She laughed and wrung the hands of Mrs. Prothero. They were like two school-girls met in another century. Davidge noted that Marie Louise turned her back and listened with extraordinary interest to Major Widdicombe's old story about an Irishman who did or said something or other. Davidge heard Mrs. Prothero say to Lady Clifton-Wyatt, with all the joy in the world: "Who do you suppose is here but our Marie Louise?" "Our Marie Louise?" Lady Clifton-Wyatt echoed, with a slight chill. "Yes, Marie Louise Webling. It was at her house that I met you. Where has the child got to? There she is." Without raising her voice she focused it between Marie Louise's shoulder-blades. "Marie Louise, my dear!"