ck, he would know
she couldn't come.

Honora took the eleven o'clock train, which gave her an hour after she
arrived in New York to do as she pleased. Her first idea, as she stood
for a moment amidst the clamour of the traffic in front of the ferry
house, was to call on Mrs. Holt at that lady's hotel; and then she
remembered that the Charities Conference began at eleven, and decided
to pay a visit to Madame Dumond, who made a specialty of importing
novelties in dress. Her costume for the prospective excursion in the
automobile had cost Honora some thought that morning. As the day was
cool, she had brought along an ulster that was irreproachable. But how
about the hat and veil?

Madame Dumond was enchanted. She had them both,--she had landed with
them only last week. She tried them on Honora, and stood back with
her hands clasped in an ecstasy she did not attempt to hide. What
a satisfaction to sell things to Mrs. Spence! Some ladies she could
mention would look like frights in them, but Madame Spence had 'de la
race'. She could wear anything that was chic. The hat and veil, said
Madame, with a simper, were sixty dollars.

"Sixty dollars!" exclaimed Honora.

"Ah, madame, what would you?" Novelties were novelties, the United
States Custom authorities robbers.

Having attended to these important details, Honora drove to the
restaurant in her hansom cab, the blood coursing pleasantly in her
veins. The autumn air sparkled, and New York was showing signs of
animation. She glanced furtively into the little mirror at the side.
Her veil was grey, and with the hat gave her somewhat the air of a
religieuse, an aspect heightened by the perfect oval of her face; and
something akin to a religious thrill ran through her.

The automobile, with its brass and varnish shining in the sunlight, was
waiting a little way up the street, and the first person Honora met
in the vestibule of Delmonico's was Lula Chandos. She was, as usual,
elaborately dressed, and gave one the impression of being lost, so
anxiously was she scanning the face of every new arrival.

"Oh, my dear," she cried, staring hard at the hat and the veil, "have
you seen Clara Trowbridge anywhere?"

A certain pity possessed Honora as she shook her head.

"She was in town this morning," continued Mrs. Chandos, "and I was sure
she was coming here to lunch. Trixy just drove up a moment ago in his
new car. Did you see it?"

Honora's pity turned into a definite contempt