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mirror.
    “Just getting my coat, Elias,” said Ruby.
    “Maisie wants us to look at the picture,” said Elias.
    “Elias, this is Augustus Bailey. My husband, Elias Renthal. Mr. Bailey wrote that article you liked on Laurance Van Degan.”
    “Pleased to meetcha, Mr. Dailey,” said Elias. He shook hands without looking at Gus.
    “Same,” said Gus, taking his coat. “Nice meeting you, Mrs. Renthal,” he added. Their eyes met in the mirror, and Gus walked out.
    “That guy’s old enough to be your father,” said Elias.
    “So are you,” replied Ruby, still adjusting her makeup at the mirror.
    “So am I what?”
    “Old enough to be my father.”
    “What the hell is this? We go to our first New York party, and you end up in the bedroom with some guy.”
    “Oh, calm down, Elias. I end up in the bedroom with the coats, talking to Mr. Bailey. He’s a writer. He writes about rich people. One of these days, you and I are going to have to get to know guys like that, when we start moving in this town. And, listen, this dress of mine is a disaster. There’s a guy here tonight called Nevel who—”
    “A guy called Nevel?”
    “Leven spelled backwards. He designed Maisie Verdurin’s dress, and the young Altemus girl who’s Laurance Van Degan’s niece. I’m going there tomorrow, so get out your checkbook, big boy, because he costs an arm and a leg, and I’m going to buy him out.”
    “Okay, okay. How’d you know this Dailey?”
    “Bailey, not Dailey, Elias. If he was from Wall Street, you’d remember his name.”
    “Bailey then.”
    “I sat next to him tonight at dinner, and I met him once before in L.A. I met a lot of people before I met you, Elias, and if you’re going to start getting jealous every time I run into someone you don’t know, we’re going to have a boring few years in front of us. Okay?”
    “Okay,” said Elias.
    “Now smile.” She put her finger under his chin.
    “I’m smiling.”
    “Love me?”
    “Love you.” He kissed her shoulder.
    “Same here. Now let’s go look at that six-million-dollar Monet and see if it’s the right color pink.”
    No one lingered after dinner at Maisie Verdurin’s parties;the evenings always ended with the liquored coffee, after which there was a mass exit for the elevator. That night the consensus was that Mr. and Mrs. Elias Renthal were never going to make it in New York, no matter how much money they brought with them from Cleveland.
    “How was Mrs. Renthal?” asked Matilda Clarke in the crowded elevator.
    “She called her evening dress a formal,” said Ezzie. “And she ate her artichoke with a knife and fork.”
    “Imagine people like that in my apartment. Sweetzer must be turning over in his grave. He grew up in that apartment,” said Matilda.
    Gus closed his eyes. He felt protective about Ruby Renthal. “I thought she was very pretty,” he said, “and very nice.”
    “Hmm,” said Ezzie.
    “Gus, come out to the country for the weekend,” said Matilda Clarke, when they got out on the first floor. “Rochelle’s coming, and maybe the Calders, if Nestor gets back from Hollywood.”
    “Thank you, but I can’t.”
    “Where are you off to?” insisted Matilda.
    “I’m going in the other direction this weekend,” replied Gus, smiling at Matilda.
    “You’re always going off some place mysterious, Gus,” said Matilda.
    Outside Maisie’s building several homeless people slept on the sidewalk, with packing cases beneath them and over them. On the street limousines were lined up waiting for the departing guests. “They shouldn’t allow this,” said Ezzie Fenwick, as he gathered Matilda Clarke and Violet Bastedo into the back of Violet’s limousine, careful that the long skirts of their dresses would not be caught in the door.
    “Can you help me out? I don’t have anything to eat,” said a beggar, holding his hand out to Ezzie Fenwick as he was about to step into the car.
    Ezzie, frightened by the proximity of the young man, put