esoteric work in Roumania, whither he had gone after the War, and in
Washington for the night and greatly pleased to accept an invitation for
dinner; but essential as he was, Burnaby was only part of the tableau
arranged. To meet him, Mrs. Ennis had asked her best, for the time
being, friend, Mimi de Rochefort--Mary was her right name--and Mimi de
Rochefort's best, for the time being, friend, Robert Pollen. Nowadays
Pollen came when Madame de Rochefort came; one expected his presence. He
had been a habit in this respect for over six months; in fact, almost
from the time Madame de Rochefort (she was so young that to call her
Madame seemed absurdly quaint), married these five years to a Frenchman,
had set foot once more upon her native land.

In the meeting of Pollen and Burnaby and Mary Rochefort, Mrs. Ennis
foresaw contingencies; just what these contingencies were likely to be
she did not know, but that an excellent chance for them existed she had
no doubt, even if in the end they proved to be no more than the humor to
be extracted from the reflection that a supposedly rational divinity had
spent his time creating three people so utterly unalike.

The gilt clock on the mantelpiece chimed half-past seven. The jonquils
on the piano shone in the polished mahogany like yellow water-lilies in
a pool. Into the silence of the room penetrated, on noiseless feet, a
fresh-colored man servant. Despite such days as the present, Mrs. Ennis
had a way, irritating to her acquaintances, of obtaining faithful
attendance. Even servants seemed to be glad to wait upon her. Her
husband, dead these six years, had been unfailingly precise in all
matters save the one of drink.

"Mr. Burnaby!" announced the man servant.