The Moselys lived in the East Fifties, two blocks off The Avenue,—a rather coldly impersonal house with a gray-stone front. At seven-forty-five Milly permitted Nathan to help her alight from the taxi. In fact, his help was extremely welcome. For Milly’s knees had turned to tallow long before Nathan had “hooked her up”, not knowing whether he exactly approved of Milly’s purchases or not. The fan shocked him so badly that he absolutely forbade her carrying it. Likewise he made her dispense with the twenty-cent aigrette she had purchased to add “class” to her hair. On the whole, Milly did not object to dispensing with these things, although she did wonder what she was going to do with her hands. When he had finally drawn off and looked at his wife, Nat knew there was something vaguely wrong somewhere. But the time was going and if they delayed longer they would be late. Milly insisted it was fashionable to arrive late. Nevertheless, her husband believed in being punctual at so critical a time to himself. As for Nathan, he had bought his first suit of dinner clothes and, exceptional to recount, the fellow felt strangely at home in them. A second-man in full house livery tended the door,—the butler being busy with last touches on the table. Nathan tried to nudge Milly to go ahead. But Milly was too terror-stricken and shrank in his rear. The husband instinctively felt foolish stumbling ahead with Milly tagging after like a poor relation he could not shake off. But she clung to his arm as though she might lose him. The house-man conducted Nathan to the smoking room, raising his Celtic eyebrows when Milly followed, as in a daze. The smoking room had been set aside for the gentlemen’s street clothes. “This way, madam, please,” he corrected, with a cough to hide his smile. And with an expression of despair, Milly was borne away to where a maid took her in charge at the end of the hall in a dressing-room set apart for the ladies. Mrs. Mosely had her drawing-room lighted with shaded lamps and adorned with flowers. The curtains had been drawn and the piano opened. Milly furtively watched for Nathan to appear and then almost ran across the broad hall to join him. She clutched her husband again and “tagged after him” despite the man’s quick whisper to go ahead. “I’m afraid,” she choked. “You go ahead!” So Nathan and his wife moved into the big drawing-room and Milly’s daze continued,—as though she were following her husband into the glories of heaven. Mosely senior, being bedridden, was not in evidence. Young Mosely was assisting his mother in receiving. He caught sight of Nathan and moved slightly forward with an outstretched hand. Milly dodged him and crept behind her husband. “Glad to see you, Forge,” was the young man’s easy greeting. “Meet my wife,” suggested Nat, wondering if it was the right thing to say, or rather, the right way to say it. “I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Forge.”