* * * * * * *
At five o'clock Porshinger drove up to Criss-Cross in the Woodsides' car. A servant took his bag, and another showed him up to the west piazza, where tea was being served.
"I'm so glad to see you, Mr. Porshinger!" exclaimed Gladys, with a welcoming smile that fell on fruitful soil. "You know every one, I believe."
Porshinger did not know everyone, but everyone greeted him as though he did. The women smiled and nodded, the men "how-are-you-Porshingered" him in the careless fashion of their kind, and went on with their talk and high-balls.
"Rye or Scotch—or will you have some tea?" asked Miss Chamberlain, pointing to a vacant chair beside her.
"I'll have some rye, if I may," Porshinger answered.
"Help yourself—they're on the side-table there."
He helped himself and returned to her. She met him with just the word needed to start the conversation and the moment was relieved of embarrassment. Then she picked out a topic mutually negative and sufficiently interesting, and they tossed it lightly back and forth.
Presently Cameron glanced over and broke in.
"Possibly Mr. Porshinger can tell us," he said—"Do you know whether Betheson has sailed yet for China to take up those railroad concessions he has succeeded in financing?"