Renée Dressler laughed. Fancy having a conscience in New York! Conscience is only the fear of being found out, and so many people are found out nowadays that Mrs. Ferry Dobbs no longer considers it a novelty worthy of a dinner."
"Mrs. Dressler," said Wendell, calmly, "you are my guest. I can say nothing now."
"But to-morrow," she thought, as he walked away, "he will tell the lady everything; and then, with the letter as corroborative evidence—well, we shall see."
Dickie Willing appcared in the door of the dining-room armed with a huge glass of whiskey-and-soda and a sandwich. "Oh, I am enjoying myself," he murmured, as he drained his glass; but he was alone in his contentment.
"I say," yawned Monty Dressler. "Isn't this party rather slow?"
The statement was not polite, but it expressed the boredness of the party. Wendell, in the rôle of compulsory host, felt compelled to relieve the situation of some of its monotony. So he went to Eveline and asked her to play something.
"Yes," exclaimed Lady Coldstream. "One of those nigger things."
Eveline took the seat at the piano and rattled off "A Georgia Camp Meeting," while Dickie Willing, inspired by the rag-time music, seized Renée Dressler's hand, and together they performed a sprightly cake walk to the accompaniment of clapping hands.
Ainslee entered quietly just as the merriment was at its height.
"Well, you all seem pretty festive," he said, as he removed his coat.
"You're just in time," called Monty Dressler. "The performance is only half-over."
"And after the performance," shouted Dickie, "remember the concert in the adjoining tent. Tickets only ten cents. Gentlemanly ushers will now pass among you!"
Someone started a popular chorus, and as Parker threw back the portière of the dining-room Wendell mounted a chair and called forth the welcome announcement of: "Supper is now ready in the dining-car."
"Tag—you're it," said Dickie, giving Renée Dressler a parting shove in the direction of a huge chair, into which she fell, panting for breath after the exertions in the cake walk, while Monty Dressler seized Eveline's hand and dragged her away, shouting: "Come on, Miss Innocence."
Wendell meanwhile descended from his point of vantage, and, extending his arm to Lady Coldstream, invited her to "Come and help feed the animals."
"Rather," exclaimed the beauty. "I'm a bit peckish—but I say," she continued, looking about the room, "where's Mr. Schuyler?"
"Behold the sleeping beauty," laughed Mrs. Dressler, pointing to the window seat, where the courtly scion of old New York was dozing sweetly, with mouth wide open and accompanying noises dangerously approximating snores.
"I say, Uncle Nicholas, wake up!" said Ainslee, shaking him.
"Why—why, what's the matter?" grunted the slumberer, as he opened his eyes in a dazed sort of way and gazed about him.
"Supper—champagne!" called Lady Coldstream.
"No—beer," protested Wendell. "We're in Bohemia now."
"Aye," muttered the sexagenarian, as Ainslee assisted him to his feet. "Bohemia, the land of the free and the home of the beautiful. Oh, you artists!" he continued, giving Wendell a friendly slap on the back. "Always jolly dogs. Perhaps you think I am too old to be young. Come, lead the way. I'm game for anything."
Like a schoolboy in his teens he capered merrily to the dining-room, followed by Lady Coldstream and the host, while a salvo of popping corks announced that Dickie Willing had discovered that champagne was not unknown in the wilds of electric-lighted Bohemia.
