Publisher's Synopsis
The day before the disaster, Iris Carr had her first premonition of danger. She was used to the protection of a crowd, whom-with unconscious flattery-she called "her friends." An attractive orphan of independent means, she had been surrounded always with clumps of people. They thought for her-or rather, she accepted their opinions, and they shouted for her-since her voice was rather too low in register, for mass social intercourse.Their constant presence tended to create the illusion that she moved in a large circle, in spite of the fact that the same faces recurred with seasonal regularity. They also made her pleasantly aware of popularity. Her photograph appeared in the pictorial papers through the medium of a photographer's offer of publicity, after the Press announcement of her engagement to one of the crowd.This was Fame.Then, shortly afterwards, her engagement was broken, by mutual consent-which was a lawful occasion for the reproduction of another portrait. More Fame. And her mother, who died at her birth, might have wept or smiled at these pitiful flickers of human vanity, arising, like bubbles of marsh-gas, on the darkness below.
