How happy, she mused, the possessor of such a paradise ought to be!  She wondered if he spent much time at home or if he preferred to answer the call of the gay metropolis.  He looked like a man who enjoyed life.  Why had he taken all this trouble for such obscure persons as themselves?  Why had he looked at her in that persistent, admiring way?  Could it be possible that he was really attracted to her and had begun to think of her as a man does of the woman he wants to marry?  Was it conceivable that she could ever be the mistress of such a beautiful home as this?  What folly to even dream of such a possibility!  Possibly, he was attracted to her and liked her company, but there was a vast difference between a fleeting whim and wishing to make her his wife.  And when her glance fell on Jimmie and Fanny squabbling in the distance it was with some bitterness that she realized the difference in their station, the width of the social chasm between her and the set to which their host belonged.

“Excuse—­please—­excuse,” spluttered the polite little Jap as he gracefully presented the salver to each guest.

Fanny took a glass, followed in turn by Jimmie, who, extending his clumsy hand, snatched one of the dainty glasses and put it to his lips.  The butler, all smiles and civility, placed the tray on a table and again bowed low.  Pointing to the tray, he said: 

“Cigarettes and cigars!  Is there anything else?”

“Not for me,” replied Jimmie, making himself comfortable in a chair on the other side of the table.

“Nor for me,” smiled Fanny, graciously.

“No, thank you,” added Virginia quickly.  “We need nothing else.”

“Then excuse, please.  Excuse—­”

The butler salaamed and withdrew, leaving Jimmie and Fanny sipping their cocktails, while Virginia, still interested in the hundred and one curios scattered about the rooms, strolled around alone.

“Some cocktail, eh?” grinned Jimmie, smacking his lips.

“Fine!” exclaimed his fiancee, emptying her glass and putting it down on the table.

Suddenly the clerk’s eyes, wandering idly around the room, alighted on the tray filled with cigar and cigarette boxes which the butler had left behind.  Rising and going to the table, he stood staring greedily at some expensive perfectos.  Finally, unable any longer to withhold his itching palm, he put out his hand and selected one.  He lit it and for a few moments puffed away with evident satisfaction.  The more he puffed and inhaled the weed’s fragrant aroma, the more sorry he was that he had none of the same brand at home.  Acting on a sudden impulse, he went back to the table and took half a dozen cigars out of the box.  He was about to stuff them into his pocket when Virginia, stepping quickly forward, interfered: 

“Jimmie!” she exclaimed indignantly.

He stayed his hand and rather shamefacedly placed the cigars back in the box.  Looking up, he demanded: