“Is he?” Laine put down his cup.  “Well, he won’t see me on business to-night.  I’ve an office down-town.  In your part of the world, Miss Keith, don’t you ever let men have a chance to forget there’s such a thing as business?”

Claudia got up.  “I’m afraid they have too much chance.”  She put her hand lightly on Mrs. Warrick’s arm.  “Will you excuse me, Hope?  I have a letter to write.”  She bowed slightly in Laine’s direction and was gone before he could reach the door to draw aside the curtains for her.

Mrs. Warrick leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms.  “Do sit down, Winthrop, and let’s talk.  I’m so glad to have a little time alone with you.  I so seldom have it that—­”

“Your guest was certainly not slow in giving it to you.  She could hardly do anything but leave after your insistence upon having things to tell me.  What in the name of Heaven did you do that for?  Does she think we don’t know how to behave up here?”

“Oh, she understands!  She knows you didn’t come to see her, and, besides, she’s gone up-stairs to write to her mother.  If King George had been here she’d have gone.  You know, I really dreaded her coming, but I needn’t.  She has been to a good many places—­was abroad for a year with one of her sisters whose husband was secretary or something to one of our ministers or somebody—­but she doesn’t know New York at all.  She’s met a number of her friend’s friends already, and I won’t have to scoop up men for her.  Last night at the Van Doren’s she had more around her than she could talk to.  Always has had, Channing says.  She’ll be no bother; and don’t stay away because she’s here.  Tell me”—­she put her hand on his knee—­“is it true you are going to Panama next month?  Robin French told me she heard you would leave on the twelfth.”

“If Miss French could sell fairy tales as rapidly as she can repeat them she’d make a fortune.  I have no idea what I am going to do next month.”

“I wish I didn’t know I was going to Savannah for Christmas.  It’s Channing’s year, and of course we ought to go to his mother, as she is too old to come to us, but there’s so much going on, and then you’ll be alone.”

“Oh, I’ll manage all right.  The one good thing about Christmas is it doesn’t last long.”  He leaned forward and with the tongs turned a smoldering log.  “But it’s incomprehensible how a woman with a home can keep up this everlasting going to other people’s houses.  To-morrow night you go—­”

“To the Taillors.  Mrs. Taillor’s debutante daughter makes her first bow to—­”

“Capitalized society, does she?  Poor child!  The pains of pleasure are many.”

“They surely are!  She looks like a scared rabbit, and I heard her say only a week ago she’d rather die than be a debutante.  But she’ll get on.  Her mother will corral the men and compel them to come in and pay her attention.  Are you going?”