for they twinkled when he spoke to people he liked—showed that life was still worth living.
"Is this Mr. Beauling coming?" said the lady.
"He will be in for lunch," said Dunbar. "He's visiting at New Rochelle, and telephones that he will ride down."
"Who is he?" said Mrs. Dunbar. "Wareing's letter was so absurd and biblical"—she cut through the waxy green stem of a yellow rose—"that I really couldn't get the drift."
"Wareing—steady, boy!—was going to make him something in China, I believe," said Dunbar; "president of some rich coal-mines that he was going to build a line to. The scheme, it seems, was rather visionary even for Wareing, and fell through. That's all I know. I suppose he felt sorry to have to disappoint Beauling, and is trying to give him a good time."
"But why pick on us particularly?" said Mrs. Dunbar.
"Well, Wareing is a very old friend;
