With a lighter heart than usual on such occasions, Mrs. Abercrombie
made ready for the grand entertainment, paying more than ordinary
attention to her toilette. Something of her old social and personal
pride came back into life, giving her face and bearing the dignity
and prestige worn in happier days. As she entered the drawing-room
at Mr. and Mrs. Birtwell's, leaning on her husband's arm, a ripple
of admiration was seen on many faces, and the question, "Who is
she?" was heard on many lips. Mrs. Abercrombie was a centre of
attraction that evening, and no husband could have been prouder of
such a distinction for his wife than was the general. He, too, found
himself an object of interest and attention. Mr. Birtwell was a man
who made the most of his guests, and being a genuine _parvenu_, did
not fail through any refinement of good breeding in advertising to
each other the merits or achievements of those he favored with
introductions. If he presented a man of letters to an eminent
banker, he informed each in a word or two of the other's
distinguished merits. An officer would be complimented on his rank
or public service, a scientist on his last book or essay, a leading
politician on his statesmanship. At Mr. Birtwell's you always found
yourself among men with more in them than you had suspected, and
felt half ashamed of your ignorance in regard to their great
achievements.

General Abercrombie, like many others that evening, felt unusually
well satisfied with himself. Mr. Birtwell complimented him whenever
they happened to meet, sometimes on his public services and
sometimes on the "sensation" that elegant woman Mrs. Abercrombie was
making. He grew in his own estimation under the flattering
attentions of his host, and felt a manlier pride swelling in his
heart than he had for some time known. His bearing became more