“Ah, there’s the difference—a girl must, a man may if he chooses.” She surveyed him critically. “Your coat’s a little shabby—but who cares? It doesn’t keep people from asking you to dine. If I were shabby no one would have me: a woman is asked out as much for her clothes as for herself. The clothes are the background, the frame, if you like: they don’t make success, but they are a part of it. Who wants a dingy woman? We are expected to be pretty and well-dressed till we drop—and if we can’t keep it up alone, we have to go into partnership.” Selden glanced at her with amusement: it was impossible, even with her lovely eyes imploring him, to take a sentimental view of her case. “Ah, well, there must be plenty of capital on the look-out for such an investment. Perhaps you’ll meet your fate tonight at the Trenors’.” She returned his look interrogatively. “I thought you might be going there—oh, not in that capacity! But there are to be a lot of your set—Gwen Van Osburgh, the Wetheralls, Lady Cressida Raith—and the George Dorsets.” She paused a moment before the last name, and shot a query through her lashes; but he remained imperturbable. “Mrs. Trenor asked me; but I can’t get away till the end of the week; and those big parties bore me.” “Ah, so they do me,” she exclaimed. “Then why go?” “It’s part of the business—you forget! And besides, if I didn’t, I should be playing bezique with my aunt at Richfield Springs.” “That’s almost as bad as marrying Dillworth,” he agreed, and they both laughed for pure pleasure in their sudden intimacy. She glanced at the clock. “Dear me! I must be off. It’s after five.” She paused before the mantelpiece, studying herself in the mirror while she adjusted her veil. The attitude revealed the long slope of her slender sides, which gave a kind of wild-wood grace to her outline—as though she were a captured dryad subdued to the conventions of the drawing-room; and Selden reflected that it was the same streak of sylvan freedom in her nature that lent such savour to her artificiality. He followed her across the room to the entrance-hall; but on the threshold she held out her hand with a gesture of leave-taking. “It’s been delightful; and now you will have to return my visit.” “But don’t you want me to see you to the station?” “No; good bye here, please.” She let her hand lie in his a moment, smiling up at him adorably. “Good bye, then—and good luck at Bellomont!” he said, opening the door for her.