"Well," said Mrs. Shadd, tapping the floor nervously with her toe. "I don't understand it. _I never_ wrote that note."

"Oh, but Mrs. Shadd--I have it here," said Henriette, opening her purse and extracting the paper. "You can read it for yourself. What else could I do after that?"

Innocence on a monument could have appeared no freer of guile than Henriette at that moment. She handed the note to Mrs. Shadd, who perused it with growing amazement.

"Isn't that your handwriting--and your crest and your paper?" asked Henriette, appealingly.

"It certainly looks like it," said Mrs. Shadd. "If I didn't know I _hadn't_ written it I would have sworn I had. Where could it have come from?"

"I supposed it came from Onyx House," said Henriette simply, glancing at the envelope.

"Well--it's a very mysterious affair," said Mrs. Shadd, rising, "and I--oh, well, my dear woman, I--I can't blame you--indeed, after all you have done I ought to be--and really am--very much obliged to you.

Only--"

"Whom did you have at dinner Wednesday night, dear?" asked Henriette.

"Only the Duke and d.u.c.h.ess of Snarleyow and--mercy! I wonder if he could have done it!"

"Who?" asked Henriette.

"_Tommy Dare!_" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Mrs. Shadd, her eyes beginning to twinkle.

"Do you suppose this is one of Tommy Dare's jokes?"

"H'm!" mused Henriette, and then she laughed. "It wouldn't be unlike him, would it?"

"Not a bit, the naughty boy!" cried Mrs. Shadd. "That's it, Mrs. Van Raffles, as certainly as we stand here. Suppose, just to worry him, we never let on that anything out of the ordinary has happened, eh?"

"Splendid!" said Henriette, with enthusiasm. "Let's act as if all turned out just as we expected, and, best of all, _never even mention it to him, or to Bunderby his confederate, neither of us, eh_?"

"Never!" said Mrs. Shadd, rising and kissing Henriette good-bye. "That's the best way out of it. If we did we'd be the laughing-stock of all Newport. But some day in the distant future Tommy Dare would better look out for Pauline Shadd, Mrs. Van Raffles."

And so it was agreed, and Henriette successfully landed Mrs. Shadd's musicale.

Incidentally, Jockobinski was very affable and the function went off well. Everybody was there and no one would for a moment have thought that there was anything strange in the transfer of the scene from Onyx House to Bolivar Lodge.

"Who wrote that letter, Henriette?" I asked late in the evening when the last guest had gone.

"Who do you suppose, Bunny, my boy?" she asked with a grin. "Bunderby?"

"No," said I.

"You've guessed right," said Henriette.

As a postscript let me say that until he reads this I don't believe Tommy Dare ever guessed what a successful joke he perpetrated upon Mrs.

Shadd and the fair Henriette. Even then I doubt if he realizes what a good one it was on--everybody.

XI

THE ADVENTURE OF MRS. INNITT'S COOK

"It is curious, Bunny," said Henriette the other morning after an unusually late breakfast, "to observe by what qualities certain of these Newport families have arrived, as the saying is. The Gasters of course belong at the top by patent right. Having invented American society, or at least the machine that at present controls it, they are ent.i.tled to all the royalties it brings in. The Rockerbilts got there all of a sudden by the sheer lavishness of their entertainment and their ability to give bonds to keep it up. The Van Varick Shadds flowed in through their unquestioned affiliation with the ever-popular Delaware Shadds and the Roe-Shadds of the Hudson, two of the oldest and most respected families of the United States, reinforced by the Napoleonic qualities of the present Mrs. Shadd in the doing of unexpected things. The Gullets, thanks to the fact that Mrs. Gullet is the acknowledged mother-in-law of three British dukes, two Italian counts, and a French marquis, are safely anch.o.r.ed in the social haven where they would be, and the rumor that Mrs. Gushington-Andrews has written a book that is a trifle risque fixes her firmly in the social constellation--but the Innitts with only eighty thousand dollars per annum, the Dedbroke-Hickses with nothing a year, the Oliver-Sloshingtons with an income of judgments, the study of their arrival is mighty interesting."

"It doesn't interest me much," quoth I. "Indeed, this American smart set don't appeal to me either for its smartness or its setness."

"Bunny!" cried Henriette, with a silvery ripple of laughter. "Do be careful. An epigram from you? My dear boy, you'll be down with brain-fever if you don't watch out."

"Humph!" said I, with a shrug of my shoulders. "Neither you nor my dear old friend Raffles ever gave me credit for any brains. I have a few, however, which I use when occasion demands," I drawled.

"Well, don't waste them here, Bunny," laughed Henriette. "Save 'em for some place where they'll be appreciated. Maybe in your old age you'll be back in dear old London contributing to _Punch_ if you are careful of your wits. But how do you suppose the Oliver-Sloshingtons ever got in here?"

"He holds the divorce record I believe," said I. "He's been married to four social leaders already, hasn't he?"

"Yes--"

"Well, he got into the swim with each marriage--so he's got a four-ply grip," said I.

"And the Dedbroke-Hickses?" asked Henriette. "How do you account for them?"

"Most attractive diners and weekenders," said I. "They got all the laughs at your dinner to the Archbishop of Decanterbury, and their man Smathers tells me they're the swellest things going at week-end parties because of his ingenuity at cotillion leading and her undeniable charms as a flirt. By Jove! she's that easy with men that even I tremble with anxiety whenever she comes into the house."

"But how do they live?--they haven't a cent to their names," said Henriette.

"Simplicity itself," said I. "He is dressed by his tailors and she by her dressmaker; and as for food, they take home a suit-case full of it from every house-party they attend. They're so gracious to the servants that they don't have to think of tips; and as for Smathers, and Mrs.

Dedbroke-Hicks's maid, they're paid reporters on the staff of _The Town Tattler_ and are willing to serve for nothing for the opportunities for items the connection gives them."

"Well--I don't envy them in the least," said Henriette. "Poor things--to be always taking and never giving must be an awful strain, though to be sure their little trolley party out to Tiverton and back was delightful--"

"Exactly; and with car-fare and sandwiches, and the champagne supplied free by the importers, for the advertis.e.m.e.nt, it cost them exactly twelve dollars and was set down as the jolliest affair of the season,"

said I. "I call that genius of a pretty high order. I wouldn't pity them if I were you. They're happy."

"Mrs. Innitt, though--I envy her," said Henriette; "that is, in a way.

She has no conversation at all, but her little dinners are the swellest things of the season. Never more than ten people at a time and everything cooked to a turn."

"That's just it," said I. "I hear enough at the club to know just what cinches Mrs. Innitt's position. It's her cook, that's what does it. If she lost her cook she'd be Mrs. Outofit. There never were such pancakes, such purees, such made dishes as that woman gets up. She turns hash into a confection and liver and bacon into a delicacy. Corned-beef in her hands is a discovery and her sauces are such that a bit of roast rhinoceros hide tastes like the tenderest of squab when served by her.

No wonder Mrs. Innitt holds her own. A woman with a cook like Norah Sullivan could rule an empire."

A moment later I was sorry I had spoken, for my words electrified her.

"_I must have her!_" cried Henriette.

"What, Mrs. Innitt?" I asked.

"No--her cook," said Henriette.