boy shyly extended towards her.

"Oh, yes, very pleased," she said vaguely. Then, with a resumption of
her former manner, she turned back to Thayer. "And I thought you
promised to drop in for a cup of tea, some Thursday, Mr. Thayer."

Beatrix was deaf to his answer. She had turned to Arlt who, scarlet with
hurt and anger, stood alone in his corner by the piano.

"Mr. Arlt," she said gayly; "it is very warm here, and I know where they
keep the frappe. Shall we leave my father here, and run off in search of
some goodies? You ought to be hungry, after playing for two hours.
Come!"

And Arlt, surprised at the sudden winning intonations which had crept
into her voice, dodged around the portly back of Mrs. Stanley and
followed Beatrix out of the room. For the moment, the haughty woman had
changed to a jovial, friendly girl, no more awe-inspiring than Katarina,
in spite of her wonderful gown and the fluffy white thing in her hair;
and the artist, in his turn, changed into a normal hungry boy, as he
followed her away.

So absorbed were they in each other that they failed to see Bobby Dane
who met them upon the threshold, on his way to join the group they had
just left.

"Beg pardon, Thayer; but can I speak to you for a moment?" he said
abruptly.

His uncle turned to Mrs. Stanley with old-fashioned pomposity.

"May I have the pleasure of taking you to the dining-room?" he asked.

"What is it, Dane?" Thayer asked, as soon as they were alone, for
Bobby's face showed that something was amiss.

"It's Lorimer in the smoking-room. That beast of a Lloyd Avalons has
opened a perfect bar in there, and--and Lorimer is making a bit of a cad
of himself," Bobby confessed reluctantly. "I tried to get him away; but
he wouldn't come, and I thought perhaps you could start him. It's not
that he is drunk, only he is talking rather too much, and I want to get
him off before Beatrix gets wind of it. You know girls--"

"I know," Thayer assented gravely. "I'll see what I can do with him."

CHAPTER FIVE

"You musicians make me deadly weary," Bobby proclaimed, from his
favorite rostrum of the hearthrug.

"Is that the reason you are trying to sit on them, Bobby?" his cousin
asked. "You'll find an easy chair just as restful to you and a good deal
more so to the musician."

Bobby waved her remark aside.

"Don't interrupt me, Beatrix. I have things I wish to say."

"Very likely; but it is barely possible that somebody else als