The designer smiled languidly up at Stefan. “I am happy,” she murmured. “No fittings, Mrs. Byrd. We rarely fit, except the model gowns. You will have the garment in a week. Au revoir.” Her eyes closed. They turned to find a high-busted woman entering the room, accompanied by two young girls. As they departed a breath-like echo floated after them, “Oh, really, Mrs. Van Sittart--still those corsets? I can do nothing for you, you know.” Tones of shrill excuse penetrated to the lift door. At the curb below stood a dyspeptically stuffed limousine, guarded by two men in puce liveries. The Byrds swung southward in silence, but suddenly Stefan heaved a great breath. “Nom d'un nom d'un nom d'un vieux bonhomme!” he exploded, voicing in that cumulative expletive his extreme satisfaction with the morning. XII Constance Elliot had not boasted her stage-management in vain. On the first Saturday in January all proceeded according to schedule. The Danaë, beautifully framed, stood at the farther end of Constance's double drawing-room, from which all other mural impedimenta, together with most of the furniture, had been removed. Expertly lighted, the picture glowed in the otherwise obscure room like a thing of flame. Two hundred ticket holders came, saw, and were conquered. Farraday, in his most correct cutaway, personally conducted a tour of three eminent critics to the Village. Sir Micah, the English curator of the Metropolitan, reflectively tapping an eye-glass upon an uplifted finger tip, pronounced the painting a turning-point in American art. Four reporters--whose presence in his immediate vicinity Constance had insured--transferred this utterance to their note books. Artists gazed, and well-dressed women did not forbear to gush. Tea, punch, and yellow suffrage cakes were consumed in the dining room. There was much noise and excessive heat. In short, the occasion was a success. Toward the end, when few people remained except the genial Sir Micah, whom Constance was judiciously holding with tea, smiles, and a good cigar, the all-important Constantine arrived. Prompted, Sir Micah was induced to repeat his verdict. But the picture spoke for itself, and the famous dealer was visibly impressed. Constance was able to eat her dinner at last with a comfortable sense of accomplishment. She was only sorry that the Byrds had not been there to appreciate her strategy. Stefan, indeed, did appear for half an hour, but Mary's courage had failed her entirely. She had succumbed to an attack of stage fright and shut herself up at home.