It was a society column about the richest men in the world and their lavish parties. Someone, it appeared, was trying to profit from that fact. ‘Ah, grandpére. In a side-glance—for the floor was variously encumbered with overturned objects—he saw one of his paper weights, a coloured glass ball such as McClintock used in trade. It would be swindling. Wood; but they never come now. The petals have fallen—the red petals we loved so. Annabel shines like a star in the darkness, Rosamund queens it a rose, deep rose; But the lady I love is like sunshine in April weather, She gleams and gladdens, she warms—and goes. Suddenly Ah Cum laughed aloud.
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