again in the flippant spirit of the Hodges and her approaching week-end.
The motor left the thickly-congested streets of Manhattan for the traffic-clogged bridge across the East River. Then a dive through the heat of Brooklyn and eventually out into the dusty suburbs. And finally the heart of the trim, well-kept Long Island of theatrical stars' and financiers' homes. Carmelita, despite the chatter of Jack Hodge, which was endurable because he never expected any one to pay attention to him anyway, was enjoying every minute of the ride. The breeze was rushing around the tonneau of the car like a young tempest. They were spinning along near the waters of Long Island Sound now and the salt air was like ambrosia. In an hour the limousine swept through ornamental gates, up a graceful bluestone drive and under the porte-cochère of a great rambling country house. The cool, white-clad figure of Lucy, the inevitable cigarette held in the inevitable black lacquer container between her teeth, appeared behind two servants who had evidently popped from nowhere at the sound of the car.
Lucy kissed her guest. "Good of you to come, old dear. But where is the handsome Dudley?"
Carmelita explained a little indefinitely.
"Would that all husbands were so con-
