Her maid rapped. "What dress, please, madam?" To be sure--they were dining that evening with the Walter Rivingtons. It was the first time they had invited Pauline since her divorce from Wyant; Mrs. Rivington's was the only house left in which the waning traditions of old New York still obstinately held out, and divorce was regarded as a social disadvantage. But they had taken Manford's advice successfully in a difficult case, and were too punctilious not to reward him in the one way he would care about. The Rivingtons were the last step of the Manford ladder. "The silver moiré, and my pearls." That would be distinguished and exclusive-looking. Pauline was thankful Dexter had definitely promised to go with her--he was getting so restive nowadays about what he had taken to calling her dull dinners... The telephone again--this time Dexter's voice. Pauline listened apprehensively, wondering if it would do to speak to him now about Amalasuntha's extraordinary announcement, or whether it might be more tactful to wait. He was so likely to be nervous and irritable at the end of the day. Yes; it was in his eleventh-hour voice that he was speaking. "Pauline--look here; I shall be kept at the office rather late. Please put off dinner, will you? I'd like a quiet evening alone with you--" "A quiet... But, Dexter, we're dining at the Rivingtons'. Shall I telephone to say you may be late?" "The Rivingtons?" His voice became remote and utterly indifferent. "No; telephone we won't come. Chuck them... I want a talk with you alone ... can't we dine together quietly at home?" He repeated the phrases slowly, as if he thought she had not understood him. Chuck the Rivingtons? It seemed like being asked to stand up in church and deny her God. She sat speechless and let the fatal words go on vibrating on the wire. "Don't you hear me, Pauline? Why don't you answer? Is there something wrong with the line?" "No, Dexter. There's nothing wrong with the line." "Well, then... You can explain to them ... say anything you like." Through the dressing-room door she saw the maid laying out the silver moiré, the chinchilla cloak, the pearls... Explain to the Rivingtons! "Very well, dear. What time shall I order dinner here?" she questioned heroically. She heard him ring off, and sat again staring into the fog, which his words had only made more impenetrable. XV MANFORD, the day after his daughter had caught sight of him at the Housetop, started out early for one of his long tramps around the Park. He was not due at his office till ten, and he wanted first to walk himself tired.