With the tea, toasted muffins, and marmalade Mr. Druid talked, but regardless of what angle his conversation started from, it invariably reverted to the one subject uppermost in his consciousness—Templeton Druid! He spoke of his managers, his contracts, his popularity, of the requests he received daily for autographed photos, of success, fame, showered upon him. To his young auditors, so sophisticated in many ways, so little in others, all this was something to be eagerly devoured, to be remembered. To them he was a figure of fame, of romanticism. But as she listened, Geraldine DeLacy turned her head that they might not see the smile of cynicism she could not suppress. For to her, as he would so obviously have been to any worldly person, Templeton Druid bore no romantic glamour. He stood out through his own words for what he was—a figure of unvarnished petty egotism. It was during a lull in his lecture on the subject of Templeton Druid that the owner of the name bent over Elinor Benton as he replenished her plate with marmalade. “Haven’t I met you before, Miss Benton?” he asked, his deep romantic eyes apparently filled with perplexity. “Your name is so familiar——” Before Elinor could voice a regretful negative, Geraldine DeLacy interposed hurriedly. “Aren’t you thinking of her father, possibly?” she inquired. “Miss Benton is the daughter of Hugh Benton, the Wall Street magnate, you know, whose successes have earned him many a column in your favorite literature—the newspapers.” “Indeed!” Templeton’s tone assumed a note of deference. “Of course, I know of your father, Miss Benton. He is a recognized celebrity in the financial world.” Across the room, three women seated at a table, were bowing and endeavoring to attract the attention of Geraldine’s party. Nell Thurston was the first to see them. “Do any of you know any of them?” she asked. “They seem to know someone at this table.” “Why yes, I do,” Josephine Wyeth answered quickly. “They are friends of mine from Baltimore. I know you will pardon me if I go over to their table for a few moments. Come with me, Rosebud, won’t you? Don’t you remember meeting Mrs. Powell, the time you motored to Baltimore with us?” “I’ll say I do,” was Rosebud’s slangy reply. Slang for this one débutante was a favorite medium. “I’m keen for saying ‘hello’ to her. She sure is a bully little sport.” Geraldine moved over next to Nell Thurston. “You two keep on talking and forbear with us for a few moments,” she advised Elinor and Templeton. “I am anxious to discuss my idea for a new evening frock with Nell.” As though the change had been prearranged between them, Templeton Druid threw a grateful glance at his old-time friend. She must have her own reasons for giving him this opportunity with the wealthy débutante, and he would make the most of it. He threw all the magnetism he possessed into his voice as he said: