“You may.”

Miss French moved behind the palms and pushed a tall leaf aside.  “You and I are too old for these things, Winthrop.  I don’t know why I come—­to get away from myself, I suppose.  Look at that Miss Cantrell!  She parades her bones as if they were a private collection of which she was proud!  And did you ever see anything as hideous as that gown Miss Gavins has on?  Paris green couldn’t be more deadly.  I heard Mathilda Hickman tell her just now to be sure and wear it to her dinner next week, it was so becoming; and only yesterday she was shrieking over it at a luncheon where everybody was talking about it, Mr. Trehan is to be at the dinner, and Mathilda wants every woman to look her worst.  Hello!  There comes Channing and Hope and the cousin from the country.  Rather a nice sort of person, awfully young and inexperienced, but—­” She put up her lorgnette.  “They are talking to Miss Cantrell.  Miss Keith is not becoming to Miss Cantrell, or Miss Gavins, either.  Her shoulders are excellent and her head perfectly poised.  That white dress suits her.  Have you been in the dining-room?”

Laine came from behind the palms.  “No; I was to wait for Hope.  Awfully glad to have seen you, Robin.  A stranger in a strange land has a chance, but a man who has lost his place hasn’t.  People have a way of closing up if you lose step, and I”—­he laughed—­“I lost step long ago.  I’ll see you again.”  And, watching, Miss French saw him take possession of Miss Keith and go with her out of the room.

Half an hour later Laine found a chair for Claudia at the end of the hall opposite the dining-room, and as she sat down he wiped his forehead.  “I used to play football, but—­”

“You’re out of practice?  I don’t believe you did take more than three men by the shoulders and put them aside.  I don’t understand football very well, but a dining-room seems to be the center-rush.  Please look at that crowd over there!” She nodded toward the open door, through which a mass of men could be seen struggling.  “Isn’t it queer—­the eagerness with which a plate of salad is pursued?”

“And the earnestness with which it is devoured.”  Laine put his handkerchief in his pocket.  Will you wait here a moment until I can get you something?  I’ll be back—­”

“Indeed I won’t.”  Claudia stood up.  “It’s fun to watch, but only fruit from the tree of life would be worth a scrimmage of that kind.  If I could get on top of a picture-frame or a curtain-pole, or anything from which I could look down on a show like this, I’d have a beautiful time, but”—­she opened her fan—­“it’s rather stuffy to be in it.”

Laine glanced around.  He knew the house well.  Next to the library, but not opening into it, was a small room of Taillor’s which could only be reached by a narrow passage at their right.  He walked away and looked in at the door.  The room was empty.

“I think it will be more comfortable over there,” he said, coming back, then saw she was talking to a man he had long known and long disliked.  He stopped a servant who was passing, a man who had once been in the employ of one of his clubs.  “Bring some stuff over here and be quick, will you, David?” he said, then spoke to the man talking to Miss Keith.