nt shield-shaped electroliers of gilded glass. Man No. 3
disappeared within the portieres bearing our cards. In a moment he
reappeared, drew them apart, and stood aside as his mistress swept out,
the same cold blond woman I had seen in the market, but now most
exquisitely clad in a pale gray gown of crepe embroidered with silver
fern fronds and held at the neck by a deep collar of splendid pearls,
pearl rings alone upon her hands, in her hair a spray of silver mistletoe
with pearls for berries. She made an exquisite picture as she advanced
swiftly to meet us, a half smile on her lips and one pink-tipped hand
extended. I love to look at beautiful women, yet the sight of her gave me
a sort of Undine shiver.

"Dear Miss Dorman, so glad to see you, and Mrs. Evan of Oaklands also. I
have seen, but never met you, I believe," she said, giving us her hand in
turn. "I must ask you to the library, (Perkins, Miss Sylvia," she said in
an aside to No. 2, who immediately vanished upstairs,) "and then excuse
myself regretfully, for this is my afternoon for 'bridge,' as Monty Bell
and a friend or two of his are good enough to promise to come and give us
hints. Monty is so useful, you know, and so good-natured. I think you
knew his mother, didn't you, Miss Lavinia? No, Sylvia is not to play; she
is not up enough for 'bridge.' I wish you could persuade her to take
lessons and an interest in the game, for when Lent begins she will be
horribly bored, for there will be a game somewhere every day, and
sometimes two and three, and she will be quite out of it, which is very
ill-advised for a girl in her first winter, and especially when she
starts as late as Sylvia. I'm afraid that I shall have to take her south
to wake her up, and that is not in my schedule this season, I've so much
to oversee at my Oaklands cottage.

"It is a very cold afternoon for you to have come so far, dear Miss
Lavinia; a cup of tea or something? No? Ah, here comes Sylvia, and I know
you will forgive me for going," and Mrs. Latham glided away with a glance
toward the stairs. She evidently was in a desperate hurry to return to
her guests, and yet she spoke slowly, with that delightful southern
deliberation that suits women with pretty mouths so well, and still as I
felt her eyes upon me I knew that to move her in any way against her own
will would be impossible, and that she could never love anything but
herself, and never would.

I did not look at Miss Lavinia in the