On various occasions when Valerie chanced to be at his studio, pouring tea for him, friends of his sister came unannounced—­agreeable women more or less fashionable, who pleaded his sister’s sanction of an unceremonious call to see the great painted frieze before it was sent to the Court House.

He was perfectly nice to them; and Valerie was perfectly at ease; and it was very plain that these people were interested and charmed with this lovely Miss West, whom they found pouring tea in the studio of an artist already celebrated; and every one of them expressed themselves and their curiosity to his sister, Mrs. Collis, who, never having heard of Valerie West, prudently conveyed the contrary in smiling but silent acquiescence, and finally wrote to her brother and told him what was being said.

Before he determined to reply, another friend—­or rather acquaintance of the Collis family—­came in to see the picture—­the slim and pretty Countess d’Enver.  And went quite mad over Valerie—­so much so that she remained for an hour talking to her, almost oblivious of Neville and his picture and of Ogilvy and Annan, who consumed time and cocktails in the modest background.

When she finally went away, and Neville had returned from putting her into her over-elaborate carriage, Ogilvy said: 

“Gee, Valerie, you sure did make a hit with the lady.  What was she trying to make you do?”

“She asked me to come to a reception of the Five-Minute Club with Louis,” said Valerie, laughing.  “What is the Five-Minute Club, Louis?”

“Oh, it’s a semi-fashionable, semi-artistic affair—­one of the incarnations of the latest group of revolting painters and sculptors and literary people, diluted with a little society and a good deal of near-society.”

Later, as they were dining together at Delmonico’s, he said: 

“Would you care to go, Valerie?”

“Yes—­if you think it best for us to accept such invitations together.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know....  Considering what we are to become to each other—­I thought—­perhaps the prejudices of your friends—­”

He turned a dull red, said nothing for a moment, then, looking up at her, suddenly laid his hand over hers where it rested on the table’s edge.

“The world must take us as it finds us,” he said.

“I know; but is it quite fair to seek it?”

“You adorable girl!  Didn’t the Countess seek us—­or rather you?—­and torment you until you promised to go to the up-to-date doings of her bally club!  It’s across to her, now.  And as half of society has exchanged husbands and half of the remainder doesn’t bother to, I don’t think a girl like you and a man like myself are likely to meet very many people as innately decent as ourselves.”

* * * * *

A reception at the Five-Minute Club was anything but an ordinary affair.