“Mrs. Winnie—­” he protested.

“Please come,” she said.  “Please!”

“I hate to have you—­” he began.

“I wish you to come!” she said, a third time.

So he answered, “Very well.”

He went; and when he entered the house, the butler led him to the elevator, saying, “Mrs. Duval says will you please come upstairs, sir.”  And there Mrs. Winnie met him, with flushed cheeks and eager countenance.

She was even lovelier than usual, in a soft cream-coloured gown, and a crimson rose in her bosom.  “I’m all alone to-night,” she said, “so we’ll dine in my apartments.  We’d be lost in that big room downstairs.”

She led him into her drawing-room, where great armfuls of new roses scattered their perfume.  There was a table set for two, and two big chairs before the fire which blazed in the hearth.  Montague noticed that her hand trembled a little, as she motioned him to one of them; he could read her excitement in her whole aspect.  She was flinging down the gauntlet to her enemies!

“Let us eat first and talk afterward,” she said, hurriedly.  “We’ll be happy for a while, anyway.”

And she went on to be happy, in her nervous and eager way.  She talked about the new opera which was to be given, and about Mrs. de Graffenried’s new entertainment, and about Mrs. Ridgley-Clieveden’s ball; also about the hospital for crippled children which she wanted to build, and about Mrs. Vivie Patton’s rumoured divorce.  And, meantime, the sphinx-like attendants amoved here and there, and the dinner came and went.  They took their coffee in the big chairs by the fire; and the table was swept clear, and the servants vanished, closing the doors behind them.

Then Montague set his cup aside, and sat gazing sombrely into the fire.  And Mrs. Winnie watched him.  There was a long silence.

Suddenly he heard her voice.  “Do you find it so easy to give up our friendship?” she asked.

“I didn’t think about it’s being easy or hard,” he answered.  “I simply thought of protecting you.”

“And do you think that my friends are nothing to me?” she demanded.  “Have I so very many as that?” And she clenched her hands with a sudden passionate gesture.  “Do you think that I will let those wretches frighten me into doing what they want?  I’ll not give in to them—­not for anything that Lelia can do!”

A look of perplexity crossed Montague’s face.  “Lelia?” he asked.

“Mrs. Robbie Walling!” she cried.  “Don’t you suppose that she is responsible for that paragraph?”

Montague started.

“That’s the way they fight their battles!” cried Mrs. Winnie.  “They pay money to those scoundrels to be protected.  And then they send nasty gossip about people they wish to injure.”

“You don’t mean that!” exclaimed the man.

“Of course I do,” cried she.  “I know that it’s true!  I know that Robbie Walling paid fifteen thousand dollars for some trumpery volumes that they got out!  And how do you suppose the paper gets its gossip?”