A look of professional interest replaced the derision in Boardman’s eyes.  “Any particular occasion for the reception?  Given in honour of anybody?”

“I’ll contribute to your society notes some other time, Boardman,” said Mavering haughtily.  “I’m speaking to a friend, not an interviewer.  Well, whom should I see after the first waltz—­I’d been dancing with Alice, and we were taking a turn through the drawing-room, and she hanging on my arm, and I knew everybody saw how it was, and I was feeling well—­whom should I see but these women.  They were in a corner by themselves, looking at a picture, and trying to look as if they were doing it voluntarily.  But I could see at a glance that they didn’t know anybody; and I knew they had better be in the heart of the Sahara without acquaintances than where they were; and when they bowed forlornly across the room to me, my heart was in my mouth, I felt so sorry for them; and I told Alice who they were; and I supposed she’d want to rush right over to them with me—­”

“And did she rush?” asked Boardman, filling up a pause which Mavering made in wiping his face.

“How infernally hot you have it in here!” He went to the window and threw it up; and then did not sit down again, but continued to walk back and forth as he talked.  “She didn’t seem to know who they were at first, and when I made her understand she hung back, and said, ‘Those showy things?’ and I must say I think she was wrong; they were dressed as quietly as nine-tenths of the people there; only they are rather large, handsome women.  I said I thought we ought to go and speak to them, they seemed stranded there; but she didn’t seem to see it; and, when I persisted, she said, ‘Well, you go if you think best; but take me to mamma.’  And I supposed it was all right; and I told Mrs. Pasmer I’d be back in a minute, and then I went off to those women.  And after I’d talked with them a while I saw Mrs. Brinkley sitting with old Bromfield Corey in another corner, and I got them across and introduced them; after I’d explained to Mrs. Brinkley who they were; and they began to have a good time, and I—­didn’t.”

“Just so,” said Boardman.

“I thought I hadn’t been gone any while at all from Alice; but the weather had changed by the time I had got back.  Alice was pretty serious, and she was engaged two or three dances deep; and I could see her looking over the fellows’ shoulders, as she went round and round, pretty pale.  I hung about till she was free; but then she couldn’t dance with me; she said her head ached, and she made her mother take her home before supper; and I mooned round like my own ghost a while, and then I went home.  And as if that wasn’t enough, I could see by the looks of those other women—­old Corey forgot Miss Wrayne in the supper-room, and I had to take her back—­that I hadn’t made it right with them, even; they were as hard and smooth as glass.  I’d ruined myself, and ruined myself for nothing.”