Upon the damask wrapping of Sharlee's chair lay a great armful of red,
red roses, the gift of prodigal young Beverley Byrd, and far too large
to carry. She lifted them up; scented their fragrance; selected and
broke a perfect flower from its long stem; and held it out with a look.
"The Assistant Secretary of the State Department of Charities presents
her humble duty to President West."
"Ah! Then the president commands his minion to place it tenderly in his
buttonhole."
"Look at the sea of faces ... lorgnettes, too. The minion _dassen't_."
"Oh, that we two were Maying!"
"You misread our announcement," said Beverley Byrd, romping up. "No
opening for young men here, Gardy! Butt out."
West left her, his well-shaped head in something of a whirl. In another
minute he was off with Miss Avery upon a gallant two-step.
Fetzy's played on; the dancers floated or hopped according to their
nature; and presently a waltz faded out and in a breath converted itself
into the march for supper, the same air always for I don't know how many
years.
Miss Avery rose slowly from her seat, a handsome siren shaped, drilled,
fitted, polished from her birth for nothing else than the beguiling of
lordly man. From the heart of her beautiful bouquet she plucked a spray
of perfect lily-of-the-valley, and, eyes upon her own flowers, held it
out to West.
"They are beautiful," she said in her languorous voice. "I hadn't
thanked you for them, had I? Wear this for me, will you not?" She looked
up and her long eyes fell--we need not assume for the first time--upon
the flower in his lapel. "I beg your pardon," she said, with the
slightest change of expression and voice. "I see that you are already
provided. Shall we not go up?"
Laughing, he plucked a red, red rose from his buttonhole and jammed it
carelessly in his pocket.
"Give it to me."
"Why, it's of no consequence. Flowers quickly fade."
"Won't you understand?... you maddening lady. I've known all these girls
since they were born. When they offer me flowers, shall I hurt their
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