"You think so?" "I'm perfectly sure of it--you'll be so satisfied to be _in_ that you'll eat out of their hands. You may be the devil in business and the stock market--also adamant--but you'll be an innocent little lamb and a wax baby in the women's game. They won't pick your pockets--oh no! you'll hand out everything you have and hustle for more to give them--and do it cheerfully." "You seem to be wise!" Porshinger retorted. "I am wiser than you, at any rate. You've been too absorbed in acquiring money to give any time to the petticoats--except those of a certain kind, and you don't learn anything from _them_ but bargain and sale. You have a new experience coming, old man, a new experience! These people don't care a damn for your money----" "Then why am I asked?" Porshinger interrupted. "Because you're wanted--for some other reason." "Hum!" said Porshinger. "Maybe I'm wanted to play the clown." "It is entirely possible!" laughed Woodside: "though a likelier guess would be that they want to inspect you--to size you up, and to try you out, and to play Auction with you. However, you've got two of them at an advantage--that kiss on the piazza last night ought to be good for something." Porshinger blew a cloud of smoke high in the air and watched it whirl away on the morning breeze. "It ought to make the fair widow--Mrs. Lorraine, I mean; I'm always thinking of her as a widow--more--obliging," his host commented. "You're a bit of a beast, Woodside!" Porshinger observed. "Oh, I don't know!" was the response. "When it comes to that there isn't much choice between us, Charlie, old boy. You know perfectly well it's her face and figure that's the attraction." "Well, do you blame me?" "Hell, no!--I rather envy you the chance." "The chance of what?" asked Porshinger. "The chance to _improve_ on acquaintance. You have accepted, I presume?" Porshinger nodded. "If you will excuse me." "Sure--delighted to facilitate your campaign." There was just a suspicion of mockery in the words--and Porshinger detected it. "So you think it is a campaign when one tries to know new people?" he inquired. "I wouldn't put it just that way!" was the laughing reply. "What?" "I shouldn't call the Chamberlains and their house-party _new_ people." "Don't be absurd; you know what I meant. There are circles within circles in Society, and----" "We are in one of the outer circles and aiming to climb into the inner ones, I understand. Miss Chamberlain's invitation is a big boost for you--if you make good. If you don't make good, you are in for a nasty tumble. Query:--Are you invited that you may tumble, or are you invited that you may climb--in plain words, are they making sport of you or are they not?" "I scarcely think that they will make sport of me!" Porshinger laughed. "I'm not accustomed to being used that way. Moreover, they are too well bred. Our intimates might do it, Woodside, but not these people. That is why I'm for climbing the fence--understand?"