ld Marie-Louise that argument would be useless.

"I'll dress, too, and come down. Is Dr. Dicky going to be at dinner?"

"No. He had to go back at once. He is very busy."

Marie-Louise slipped out of bed. "Therese," she called, "come and dress
me, after you have shown Miss Warfield the way."

Anne never forgot the moment of entrance into the great dining-room.
There were just four of them. Dr. Austin and his wife, herself and
Marie-Louise. But for these four there was a formality transcending
anything in Anne's experience. Carved marble, tapestry, liveried
servants, a massive table with fruit piled high in a Sheffield basket.

The people were dwarfed by the room. It was as if the house had been
built for giants, and had been divorced from its original purpose. Anne,
walking with Marie-Louise, wondered whimsically if there were any
ceilings or whether the roof touched the stars.

Mrs. Austin was supported by her husband. She was a little woman with
gray hair. She wore pearls and silver. Anne was in white. Marie-Louise in
a quaint frock of gold brocade. There seemed to be no color in the room
except the gold of the fire on the great hearth, the gold of the oranges
on the table, and the gold of Marie-Louise's gown.

Mrs. Austin was pale and silent. But she had attentive eyes. Anne was
uncomfortably possessed with the idea that the little lady listened and
criticized, or at least that she held her opinion in reserve.

Marie-Louise spoke of Geoffrey Fox. "Miss Warfield knows him. She knows
how he came to write his book."

Anne told them how he came to write it. Of Peggy ill at Bower's, of the
gray plush pussy cat, and of how, coming up the hall with the bowl of
soup in her hand, she had found Fox in a despairing mood and had
suggested the plot.

Austin, watching her, decided that she was most unusual. She was
beautiful, but there was something more than beauty. It was as if she was
lighted from within by a fire which gave warmth not only to herself but
to those about her.

He was glad that he had brought her here to be with Marie-Louise. For the
moment even his wife's pale beauty seemed cold.

"We'll have Fox up," he said, when she finished her story.

Anne was sure that he would be glad to come. She blushed a little as she
said it.

Later, when they were having coffee in the little drawing-room,
Marie-Louise taxed her with the blush. "Is he in love with you?"

Anne felt it best to be frank. "He thought he wa