“When do you return to Harrisburg?” Byron Polder inquired.  “My son,” he went on to Howat Penny, “is a practical iron man.  I say iron, although that is no longer the phrase, because of natural associations.  The present system of the manufacture of steel, as you doubtless know, evolved from the old Ironmasters, of whose blood James has a generous share.  We look to him to re-establish, er—­a departed importance.  I need say no more.”  His women’s anxiety at this trend of speech became painful.  “Play a right lively piece,” Mrs. Polder interjected, and an intolerable cacophony of banjoes followed, making conversation futile.

The evening, Howat Penny felt, was a considerable success; by heaven, Mariana would never get herself into this!  Byron Polder’s innuendoes must have annoyed her nicely.  When the mechanical disturbance ceased, Mrs. Polder said, “I believe that’s the bell.”  Evidently she had been correct, for, immediately after, a young woman with bright gold hair, and a mobile, pink countenance unceremoniously entered the room.  “Oh!” she exclaimed, in an instinctively statuesque surprise; “I didn’t know you were entertaining company.”

“Come right in, Harriet,” Mrs. Polder heartily proclaimed.  “Miss Jannan, Mr. Penny, this is Isabella’s friend, Harriet de Barry, a near neighbour and a sweet girl.  She’s an actress, too; understudies Vivian Blane; and is better, lots say, than the lead.”

Harriet de Barry made a comprehensive gesture.  “I wanted to say good-bye to you all,” she announced.  “I am going on tour.  Leave at midnight.  Just had a wire from Mrs. Blane.”  There were polite Polder exclamations, regret, congratulations; through which the son of the house moodily gazed at the carpet.  “Haven’t you anything to say to Hatty?” his mother demanded.  “And after all the passes she sent you.”  Howat Penny saw Mariana’s gaze rest swiftly on the latest comer’s obvious good looks; and the scrutiny, he was certain, held a cold feminine appraisal.  As they descended to leave Mariana lingered on the stairs with Jim.  The latter closed the door of the public motor with a low, intense mutter; and, moving away, Howat Penny lit a cigarette with a breath of audible relief.

“I don’t know which I detest most,” Mariana declared viciously, “you or myself.”

“You might include that fish,” he added plaintively.  She gazed at him in cold contempt, with an ugly, protruding lip.  Nothing else was said until they were in the opened room at the Jannans.  Mariana flung herself on a broad divan, with her narrowed gaze fixed on the points of her slippers.  “Comfortable, isn’t it,” she addressed him; “this feeling of superiority?” He placidly nodded, inwardly highly pleased.  “I wish I’d married Jim the first week I knew him, without trying to be so dam’ admirable.  Howat, what is it that makes people what they are, and aren’t?” It was, he told her, difficult to express; but it had to do with inherited associations.  “Mrs. Polder is as kind as possible,” she asserted; “and I could see that you were absorbed in Kate.”