“All women are extravagant.  I have preferences, even if I can’t afford them.  If you were a tippler instead of a plain grouch I could tell you precisely how you’d act and what you’d talk about as the evening goes on.  First you’d be gallant and attentive; then you’d forget me and talk business with Mr. Wharton—­he’s nearest you.  About that time I’d begin to learn the real names of these lords of finance.  After that you’d become interested in my future.  That’s always the worst period.  Once I’d made you realize that you meant nothing in my life and that my future was provided for, you’d tell me stories about your family—­how your wife is an invalid, how Tom is at Yale, how Susie is coming out in the autumn, and how you really had no idea ladies were to be present tonight or you’d never have risked coming.  Finally you’d confess that you were naturally impulsive, generous, and affectionate, and merely lacked the encouragement of a kindred spirit like me to become a terrible cut-up.  Then you’d insist upon dancing.  I’d die if I had to teach you the tango.”

Mr. Merkle grunted, “So would I.”

She smiled sweetly.  “You see, we’re both unpleasant people.”

Merkle meditated in silence while she attacked her food with a healthy, youthful appetite that awoke his envy.

“I suppose you see a lot of this sort of thing?” he at length suggested.

“There’s something of the kind nearly every night.  Is this your first experience?”

“Um-m—­no.  Steel men are notoriously sporty when they get away from home.  But I don’t go out often.”

“This party isn’t as bad as some, for the very reason that most of the men are from out of town and it’s a bit of a novelty to them.  But there’s a crowd of regular New-Yorkers—­the younger men-about-town—­” She paused significantly.  “I accepted one invitation from them.”

“Only one?”

“It was quite enough.”

“I’ve traveled some,” observed Merkle, “but this city is getting to be the limit.”

She nodded her amber head.  “There’s only one Paris, after all, and that’s New York.  Don’t laugh; I read that.  We girls remember all the clever things we hear, and use them.  Do you see the young person in black and white with the red-nosed man—­the one who looks as if he were smelling a rose?  Well, she’s in our company, and she’s very popular at these parties because she’s so witty.  As a matter of fact, she memorizes the jokes in all the funny papers and springs them as her own.  Her men friends say she’s too original to be in the show business.”

For a moment the girl at Merkle’s right engaged his attention, and Lorelei turned again to the incoherent story-teller beside her, who had made it plain by pawing at her that he was bursting once more with tidings of great merriment.

The meal grew noisier; the orchestra interspersed sensuous melodies from the popular successes with the tantalizing rag-time airs that had set the city to singing.  Silent-footed attendants deposited tissue-covered packages before the guests.  There was a flutter of excitement as the women began to examine their favors.