But of course there was nothing he could do about it.  The date for the great festivity was set; and the Wallings were affable and friendly, and Alice all a-tremble with excitement.  The evening arrived, and with it came the enemies of the Wallings, dressed in their jewels and fine raiment.  They had been asked because they were too important to be skipped, and they had come because the Wallings were too powerful to be ignored.  They revenged themselves by consuming many courses of elaborate and costly viands; and they shook hands with Alice and beamed upon her, and then discussed her behind her back as if she were a French doll in a show-case.  They decided unanimously that her elder cousin was a “stick,” and that the whole family were interlopers and shameless adventurers; but it was understood that since the Robbie Wallings had seen fit to take them up, it would be necessary to invite them about.

At any rate, that was the way it all seemed to Montague, who had been brooding.  To Alice it was a splendid festivity, to which exquisite people came to take delight in each other’s society.  There were gorgeous costumes and sparkling gems; there was a symphony of perfumes, intoxicating the senses, and a golden flood of music streaming by; there were laughing voices and admiring glances, and handsome partners with whom one might dance through the portals of fairyland.—­And then, next morning, there were accounts in all the newspapers, with descriptions of one’s costume and then some of those present, and even the complete menus of the supper, to assist in preserving the memories of the wonderful occasion.

Now they were really in Society.  A reporter called to get Alice’s photo for the Sunday supplement; and floods of invitations came—­and with them all the cares and perplexities about which Mrs. Robbie had told.  Some of these invitations had to be declined, and one must know whom it was safe to offend.  Also, there was a long letter from a destitute widow, and a proposal from a foreign count.  Mrs. Robbie’s secretary had a list of many hundreds of these professional beggars and blackmailers.

Conspicuous at the dance was Mrs. Winnie, in a glorious electric-blue silk gown.  And she shook her fan at Montague, exclaiming, “You wretched man—­you promised to come and see me!”

“I’ve been out of town,” Montague protested.

“Well, come to dinner to-morrow night,” said Mrs. Winnie.  “There’ll be some bridge fiends.”

“You forget I haven’t learned to play,” he objected.

“Well, come anyhow,” she replied.  “We’ll teach you.  I’m no player myself, and my husband will be there, and he’s good-natured; and my brother Dan—­he’ll have to be whether he likes it or not.”