“I came to report h’an unfortunate condition h’among the servants, sir,” said Rawies, stiffening as his responsibility became more and more weighty.  He had relaxed temporarily upon entering the room.

“What’s the trouble?”

“The trouble’s h’ended, sir.”

“Then why bother me about it?”

“I thought it would be well for you to know, sir.  The servants was going to ask for ’igher wiges to-day, sir.”

“You say they were going to ask.  Aren’t they?” And Monty’s eyes lighted up at the thought of new possibilities.

“I convinced them, sir, as how they were getting good pay as it is, sir, and that they ought to be satisfied.  They’d be a long time finding a better place and as good wiges.  They ’aven’t been with you a week, and here they are strikin’ for more pay.  Really, sir, these American servants—­”

“Rawles, that’ll do!” exploded Monty.  The butler’s chin went up and his cheeks grew redder than ever.

“I beg pardon, sir,” he gasped, with a respectful but injured air.

“Rawles, you will kindly not interfere in such matters again.  It is not only the privilege, but the duty of every American to strike for higher pay whenever he feels like it, and I want it distinctly understood that I am heartily in favor of their attitude.  You will kindly go back and tell them that after a reasonable length of service their wiges—­I mean wages—­shall be increased.  And don’t meddle again, Rawles.”

Late that afternoon Brewster dropped in at Mrs. DeMille’s to talk over plans for the next dinner.  He realized that in no other way could he squander his money with a better chance of getting its worth than by throwing himself bodily into society.  It went easily, and there could be only one asset arising from it in the end—­his own sense of disgust.

“So glad to see you, Monty,” greeted Mrs. Dan, glowingly, coming in with a rush.  “Come upstairs and I’ll give you some tea and a cigarette.  I’m not at home to anybody.”

“That’s very good of you, Mrs. Dan,” said he, as they mounted the stairs.  “I don’t know what I’d do without your help.”  He was thinking how pretty she was.

“You’d be richer, at any rate,” turning to smile upon him from the upper landing.  “I was in tears half the night, Monty, over that glass screen,” she said, after finding a comfortable place among the cushions of a divan.  Brewster dropped into a roomy, lazy chair in front of her and handed her a cigarette, as he responded carelessly: 

“It amounted to nothing.  Of course, it was very annoying that it should happen while the guests were still there.”  Then he added, gravely:  “In strict confidence, I had planned to have it fall just as we were pushing back our chairs, but the confounded thing disappointed me.  That’s the trouble with these automatic climaxes; they usually hang fire.  It was to have been a sort of Fall of Babylon effect, you know.”