No—­and he was so sorry; and it was very amiable of his hostess to want him, but he was not remaining for the dance.

So much for the hostess, who stood there massive and gem-laden, her kindly and painted features tinted now with genuine emotion.

“Je m’accuse, mon fils!—­but you acted like a perfect dear,” she said. “Mea culpa, mea culpa; and can you forgive a very much mortified old lady who is really and truly fond of you?”

He laughed, holding her fat, ringed hands in both of his with all the attractive deference that explained his popularity.  Rising excitement had sent the colour into his face and cleared his pleasant gray eyes; and he looked very young and handsome, his broad shoulders bent a trifle before the enamelled and bejewelled matron.

“Forgive you?” he repeated with a laugh of protest; “on the contrary, I thank you.  Mrs. Ruthven is one of the most charming women I know, if that is what you mean?”

Looking after him as he made his way toward the cloak room:  “The boy is thoroughbred,” she reflected cynically; “and the only amusement anybody can get out of it will be at my expense!  Rosamund is a perfect cat!”

* * * * *

He had sent for his cab, which, no doubt, was in line somewhere, wedged among the ranks of carriages stretching east and west along the snowy street; and he stood on the thick crimson carpet under the awning while it was being summoned.  A few people like himself were not staying for the dance; others who had dined by prearrangement with other hostesses, had now begun to arrive, and the confusion grew as coach and brougham and motor came swaying up through the falling snow to deposit their jewelled cargoes of silks and laces under the vast awning picketed by policemen and lined with fur-swathed grooms and spindle-legged chauffeurs in coats of pony-skin.

The Cornelius Suydams, emerging from the house, offered Selwyn tonneau room, but he smilingly declined, having a mind for solitude and the Lenox Club.  A phalanx of debutantes, opera bound, also left.  Then the tide set heavily the other way, and there seemed no end to the line of arriving vehicles and guests, until he heard a name pronounced; a policeman warned back an approaching Fiat; and Selwyn saw Mrs. Ruthven, enveloped in white furs, step from the portal.

She saw him as he moved back, nodded, passed directly to her brougham, and set foot on the step.  Pausing here, she looked about her, right and left, then over her shoulder straight back at Selwyn; and as she stood in silence evidently awaiting him, it became impossible for him any longer to misunderstand without a public affront to her.

When he started toward her she spoke to her maid, and the latter moved aside with a word to the groom in waiting.

“My maid will dismiss your carriage,” she said pleasantly when he halted beside her.  “There is one thing more which I must say to you.”