And Henderson sat looking into the fire and musing, with the feeling that he had been at the theatre, and that the comedy had been beautifully played.

His part of the play was carried out next day in good faith.  One of the secrets of Henderson’s success was that he always did what he said he would do.  This attracted men to him personally, and besides he found, as Bismarck did, that it was more serviceable to him than lying, for the crafty world usually banks upon insincerity and indirectness.  But while he kept his word he also kept his schemes to himself, and executed them with a single regard to his own interest and a Napoleonic selfishness.  He did not lie to enemy or friend, but he did not spare either when either was in his way.  He knew how to appeal to the self-interest of his fellows, and in time those who had most to do with him trusted him least when he seemed most generous in his offers.

When, the next day, his secretary reported to him briefly that Delancy was greatly elated with the turn things had taken for him, and was going in again, Henderson smiled sardonically, and said, “It was the worst thing I could have done for him.”

Jack, who did not understand the irony of his temporary rescue, and had little experience of commercial integrity, so called, was intent on fulfilling his part of the understanding with Carmen.  This could best be effected by a return dinner to the Hendersons.  The subject was broached at breakfast in an off-hand manner to Edith.

It was not an agreeable subject to Edith, that was evident; but it was not easy for her to raise objections to the dinner.  She had gone to the Hendersons’ to please Jack, in her policy of yielding in order to influence him; but having accepted the hospitality, she could not object to returning it.  The trouble was in making the list.

“I do not know,” said Edith, “who are the Hendersons’ friends.”

“Oh, that doesn’t matter.  Ask our friends.  If we are going to do a thing to please them, no use in doing it half-way, so as to offend them, by drawing social lines against them.”

“Well, suggest.”

“There’s Mavick; he’ll be over from Washington next week.”

“That’s good; and, oh, I’ll ask Father Damon.”

“Yes; he’ll give a kind of flavor to it.  I shouldn’t wonder if he would like to meet such a man as Henderson.”

“And then the Van Dams and Miss Tavish; they were at Henderson’s, and would help to make it easy.”

“Yes; well, let’s see.  The Schuyler Blunts?”

“Oh, they wouldn’t do at all.  They wouldn’t come.  She wouldn’t think of going to the Hendersons’.”

“But she would come to us.  I don’t think she would mind once in a way.”

“But why do you want them?”

“I don’t want them particularly; but it would no doubt please the Hendersons more than any other thing we could do-and, well, I don’t want to offend Henderson just now.  It’s a little thing, anyway.  What’s the use of all this social nonsense?  We are not responsible for either the Hendersons or the Blunts being in the world.  No harm done if they don’t come.  You invite them, and I’ll take the responsibility.”