"Oh, Lynn," whispered Mrs. Hadwell with a sigh of contentment, "aren't people a treat? I wonder if they're getting hungry. Do you think I had better give orders to have supper served?"

"It mightn't be a bad idea. Let me go with you, Del."

"Such a queer thing has happened to-day, Lynn," whispered Mrs. Hadwell, confidentially, as they went out together. "You remember my speaking to you of my prize housekeeper? the one beside whose frigid nature my own showed in the light of a volcano? Well, she has actually shown signs of being human for once. To-day she approached me with a request for an extra night out: at least she didn't call it that, but it was practically what she wanted. Under the circumstances—the twins arriving and the bridge people coming here, to-night—I demurred a little and asked if to-morrow wouldn't do. She then told me—with an air of wishing she didn't have to—that General Shaftan—the General Shaftan—had been an old friend of hers in childhood days; and that she had just received an urgent message, asking that she go without fail to his house to-night. He must be better; it is queer, for I understood that he had been quite given up: he has two nurses and is never left for a moment, day or night. Imagine! Of course I told her to go—but what in the world do you suppose it means? You know the story about the General and the bewitching Langham-Greene, of course? They were engaged to be married some twenty years ago when Langham-Greene—who was plain Bill Greene, then—hove upon the scene with his half a million: and 'the scene was changed.' My lady dropped Shaftan like a hot potato and transformed Bill into a Benedict and a Langham-Greene. Then she drove him to drink: at least they say so! I don't believe, myself, that he took much driving. At all events he was thoughtful enough to drink himself to death: and thoughtless enough to speculate and leave her very poorly off—comparatively speaking, of course! Shaftan, in the meantime, had left the city and gone to India: and just about the time that Bill Greene drank his last glass, he blossomed out as a General and dear knows what all. Wasn't it rich? Poor Julia thought she had only to hold out a welcoming hand, when he returned; but to every one's surprise, he had neither forgotten nor forgiven. If he had even refused to meet her it would have been some solace to her vanity, but he was quite ready to go so far and was extremely polite when he did: only he would never talk to her if he could help it. She gave him up at last as a bad job. Now, when the papers can talk of nothing else but the career of the famous General Shaftan and his approaching death he sends for my housekeeper—and by the way, Mrs. Waite knew the Langham-Greene well when she was a girl, for the latter told me so, adding in her pleasant way that the poor thing had never had but the one offer which she accepted."

"I wish she had said that to me."

"She knows your tongue too well, my dear. And you make a great mistake in not conciliating the creature. Never make an enemy of a cad, male or female; for 'it' can use weapons which you would disdain to touch, and those weapons are frequently poisoned. If you must make enemies, make them of honourable people, who will simply let you alone, and not be trying to injure you; and be careful to see that every obnoxious kind of human reptile loves you. But what's the use of talking? one can't teach you common sense."

When the business of ascertaining the highest scores had been attended to Miss Erma Reed was found to be the winner of the lady's prize. Mrs. Hadwell was much amused by the warmth of Mr. Bert Hadwell's congratulations. Such plaudits as he bestowed upon her are rarely called forth by the most amazing skill: and his aunt by marriage laughed and pinched Miss Thayer's arm as she listened to them.

"When one considers Erma's height and proportions and the almost unnatural whiteness of her skin, one sees that it is merely to be expected that such a slender and brown individual as Bert should be impressed by her cleverness at bridge.... Here is your prize, dear! I am so glad you won it and I think it will go nicely with your pretty dress."

"It" was a pearl pendant which Erma received with something as nearly approaching animation as that stately and somewhat shy damsel ever showed. She was, beyond all doubt, one of the most beautiful girls in Montreal; her absolutely flawless skin and generous though graceful proportions instinctively recalling the masterpieces of Grecian sculpture. Yet it was a cold beauty, unlit by intellectual or mirthful fires: and some of the unthinking who merely assimilate the general effect without noticing details had been heard to say openly that they preferred Mrs. Hadwell's vivacious prettiness to the younger woman's more stately charms. No one had laughed more freely at this than Mrs. Hadwell, herself. She was well aware that, devoid of artificial advantages, she would be a most insignificant little nonentity, but that fact gave her no uneasiness and diminished nothing of her graciousness toward the younger and prettier girls who thronged her entertainments and sang her praises without stint. Yet she could not bear "green girls."

"Lynn," she would say to her friend, "you have no idea what a comfort it is to feel that I can get away from them sometimes and take a rest with you. After these giggling, insipid debutantes you are like a—a cocktail! Yet it is the thing for nice women to be adored by young girls and so I must be adored, worse luck!"

CHAPTER XV