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  XII

  On Monday night, Clancy had had her introduction to metropolitan nightlife. She didn't know, of course, what sort of party Sophie Carey wouldgive. It probably would differ somewhat from Zenda's affair at theChateau de la Reine. Probably--because Mrs. Carey was a painter of greatdistinction--there would be more of what Clancy chose to denominate as"society" present. Wherefore she knew that her gray foulard wasdistinctly not _au fait_.

  Having hastily donned the gown, she scrutinized herself distastefully inthe mirror, and was unhappy.

  For a moment, she thought of telephoning Mrs. Carey and offering somehastily conceived excuse. Then she reflected. David Randall wouldperhaps be at the party. Clancy had had a unique experience as regardsNew York men thus far. They had proved inimical to her--all exceptRandall. He had shown, in the unsubtle masculine ways which are solegible to women, that he had conceived for her one of those suddenattachments that are flattering to feminine vanity. She wanted to seehim. And she was honest enough to admit to herself that one of herreasons for wishing to see him had nothing to do with herself. Shewanted to observe him with Sophie Carey, to watch his attitude towardher. For, vaguely, she had sensed that Sophie Carey was interested inyoung Randall. But she tried to put this idea, born of a strangejealousy that she hated to admit, away from her. Mrs. Carey had been anangel to her.

  She shrugged. If they didn't like her, they could leave her. About herneck she fastened a thin gold chain, and carefully adjusted the littlegold locket that contained a lock of her mother's hair, upon her bosom.She gave a last look at herself, picked up her cheap little blue coat,turned off the electric light, and ran lightly down-stairs.

  Mrs. Gerand was in the front hall. Her sharp features softened as sheviewed Clancy.

  "Party?" she asked.

  "Dinner--and dance," said Clancy.

  Mrs. Gerand had come from the kitchen to answer the door-bell. She worean apron, on which she now wiped her hands.

  "It's snowing. You oughta have a taxi," she said.

  Clancy's jaw dropped in dismay. Even including the change from thefive-dollar bill that Grannis had left upon the table--she suddenlyrealized that she hadn't sent Grannis this money--she had only aboutseven dollars. Then her face brightened. She had convinced herself thaton the morrow it would be perfectly safe to withdraw some of the fundsthat stood in the Thespian Bank to the credit of Florine Ladue.

  And, anyway, it would have been poor economy to ruin the only pair ofslippers fit for evening wear that she owned to save a taxi-fare. Thesnow was swirling through the street as Clancy ran down the steps to thewaiting taxi-cab. It was, though she didn't know it, the beginning of ablizzard that was to give the winter of Nineteen-twenty a specialprominence. In the cab Clancy wondered if the snow that had fallen uponher hair would melt and disarrange her coiffure. And when Mrs. Careyopened the door herself on Clancy's arrival at the studio-house inWaverly Place, she noticed the girl's hands patting the black mass andlaughed.

  "Don't bother about it, my dear," she advised. "I want to fix it for youmyself after dinner."

  She took Clancy's coat from her and hung it in a closet.

  "Usually," she said, "I have a maid to attend to these things, but thisis Thursday, and she's off for the day."

  Clancy suddenly remembered Mrs. Carey's talk of the morning.

  "But your cook----"

  Mrs. Carey shrugged. They were shoulders well worth shrugging. And theblue gown that her hostess wore this evening revealed even more than theblack gown of the Trevor last night.

  "Still sick," laughed Mrs. Carey. "That's why I'm giving a party. I liketo prove that I'm not dependent on my servants. And I'm not. Ofcourse"--and she chuckled--"I'm dependent upon caterers and that sort ofthing, but still--I deceive myself into thinking I'm independent.Self-deception is God's kindest gift to humanity."

  She was even more beautiful than last night, Clancy thought. Then shefelt a sudden sinking of the heart. If Sophie Carey, with her genius,her fame, her _savoir-faire_, her beauty, _wanted_ David Randall-- Sheshook her head in angry self-rebuke as she followed Mrs. Carey to thetiny dining-room.

  Clancy had never seen such china or silver. And the dinner was, fromgrapefruit to coffee, quite the most delicious meal that Clancy had evereaten. Her hostess hardly spoke throughout the dinner, and Clancy wasill at ease, thinking that Mrs. Carey's silence was due to her owninability to talk. The older woman read her thoughts.

  "I'm frequently this way, Miss Deane," she laughed, as she poured coffeefrom a silver pot that was as exquisite in its simplicity of design assome ancient vase. "You mustn't blame yourself. Work went wrongto-day--it often does. I can't talk. I felt blue; so I telephoned halfNew York and invited it to dance with me to-night. And then I wantedcompany for dinner, and I picked on you, because my intimate friendswon't permit me to be rude to them. And I knew you would. And I won't beany more. Have a cigarette?"

  Clancy shook her head.

  "I never smoke," she admitted.

  "It's lost a lot of its fascination since it became proper," said Mrs.Carey. "However, I like it. It does me good. Drink? I didn't offer you acocktail, because I ain't got none. I didn't believe it possible thatprohibition would really come, and I was fooled. But I have someliqueurs?" Clancy shook her head. Mrs. Carey clapped her hands. "Donwill adore you!" she cried. "He loves simplicity, primeval innocence--Ihope you break his heart, Miss Deane."

  "I hope so, too, if it will please you," smiled Clancy. "Who is Don?"

  "My husband," said Mrs. Carey. "If I can't find some one new, fresh, forhim to fall in love with, he'll be insisting on returning to me, and Ican't have him around. I'm too busy."

  Clancy gasped.

  "You're joking, of course?"

  Mrs. Carey's eyebrows lifted.

  "Deed and deedy I'm _not_ joking," she said. "I haven't seen Don forseven months. Last time, he promised me faithfully that he'd go to Renoand charge me with desertion or something like that. I thought he'd doneit. I might have known better. He's been paying attentive court to ayoung lady on Broadway. He telephoned me this afternoon, demanding mysympathy because the young woman had eloped with her press-agent. Heinsisted on coming down here and letting me hold his hand and place coldcloths on his fevered brow." She laughed and rose from the table. "I'mgoing to saw him off on you, Miss Deane."

  Clancy was like a peony. Mrs. Carey came round the table and threw anarm about her.

  "Don't take me too seriously, Miss Deane. I talk and I talk, and whenone talks too much, one talks too wildly. Sometimes, when I think uponthe foolishness of youth-- Don't you marry too soon, Miss Deane."

  "I won't!" exclaimed Clancy.

  Mrs. Carey laughed.

  "Oh, but you will! But we won't argue about it." She stepped away a pacefrom Clancy. Her eyes narrowed as she stared. "I wonder," she said, "ifyou're a very--touchy--person."

  Clancy hoped that she wasn't, and said so.

  "Because," said Sophie Carey, "I've taken an--does it sound toopatronizing? Well, no matter. I'm interested in you, Miss Deane. I wantyou to be a success. Will you let me dress you? Just for to-night? Ihave a yellow gown up-stairs. Let me see your feet."

  Clancy surrendered to the mood of her hostess. She held out hergray-clad foot. Mrs. Carey nodded.

  "The slipper will fit. Let's go up."

  "Let's!" said Clancy excitedly.

  Mrs. Carey's bedroom was furnished in a style that Clancy had neverdreamed of. But the impression of the furnishings, the curtains and rugsand lacy pillows--this vanished before the display that the closetafforded. Gown after gown, filmy, almost intangible in their exquisitedelicacy-- She offered no objection as Sophie Carey unhooked her grayfoulard. She slipped into the yellow-silk dress with her heart beatingin wild excitement.

  In the mirror, after yellow stockings and slippers to match, with brightrhinestone buckles, had been put on, she looked at herself. She blusheduntil her bosom, her back even, were stained. What _would_ they think inZenith? She turned, and, by t
he aid of a hand-mirror, saw her back. A Vran down almost to the waist-line.

  "Satisfied?" asked Mrs. Carey.

  Clancy ran to her hostess. She threw her arms round Sophie Carey's neckand kissed her. Mrs. Carey laughed.

  "That kiss, my dear, is for yourself. But I thank you just the same."

  Down-stairs, the door-bell tinkled.

  "You'll have to answer it," said Mrs. Carey.